Wailing Part I


Like Ginsberg I see the minds of my generation torn apart

not by drugs, but by tweets and twitters full of fear 

and anger without focus save the focus given 

by those behind the curtain pulling levers

and I want to howl myself but howling

only joins the background wail of a society screaming

as it follows the Donald into the atmosphere 

leaving behind a burning trail; a falling star 

that no one wants to wish upon.

Write something nice and hopeful voices say, don’t

howl for howling is too wild, untamed, and savage;

uncultured, uncivilized, and unrestrained.

Restraint I’m told will keep me safe.

No one likes an unchained melody, no one

likes an unchained anything.

All the while my heart is fibrillating to the arrhythmia 

of my mind instead of beating out its own taiko rhythm 

drumming with my ancestors and dancing in the fires

of creation.

Will the beat remain distant, beyond all hearing or imagining?

Does anyone hear it? I don’t want to march alone, but

alone it feels, for now.

In the distance I hear them, though. A faint reverberating rhythm

thundering on the O-Daiko, the Heartbeat Drum, and

the cries of wild dancers drummers, drumming dancing

into being a new Earth, an Earth not of this world perhaps,

but one where I will not march dance drum alone.