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
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.