looking up into a sky stained night
what do you suppose they'll do
with all those stars once the world
goes on winking all its own?
in jeans thrice sewn by your mother,
blood pumping bennies and grain
to any and all receptive lobes,
how you wept for country!
mad man,
today you'd sate lions!
your halo, a crown of thorny miles
but a speck on the ever growing stretch
of manifest destiny
o brother, o martyr,
o patron saint of beat
beating down heaven here on earth.
what thoughts there are of you tonight
in a truck stop, in a beer hall,
on a football field of oklahoma
or any place else.
yea yea yea
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