Mr. Ginsberg, my deepestcondolences to
The greatest minds of your generation
And Mr. Ginsberg,could you help me?
I'm having trouble finding the greatest minds
of mygeneration.
I think I'm losing them to 401(k)s and stock options.
Somewherealong the way
They were indentured for eight bucks an hour
And threepercent f***ing commission.
Blue light specials and trade deals,
Wageslavery, tax relief,
Two-for-one specials and bottles of naivete

witha twist of arsenic.
I still can't see myself in a Chevy, even with a
Fifthglass of bourbon resting in the
fold-out, automatic, super-duty, extra-tough,UV resistant,
brilliant, bright and user-friendly cup holder.
We're raisedto believe the American economy is a pillar,
definitely a grand pillar ofshredded and rotting asbestos.
I'm beginning to feel the spot in mylungs.
It's okay, I'll just go to Starbucks for a dose of Bohemia,
can'tbeat feeling cultured at $3.50 a cup.
Speakers, hidden, blaring jazz beats toyuppies
who wouldn't know Thelonius Monk
if he was jamming outside forquarters.
That's fine though, as long as there's still
comfort in the foldsof pseudo intellect.
I'm okay, purified by the soothing words of the
inescapable billboard:
We're free, with every purchase.
Just like that,there I was, when they
showed up.
Just a couple of rich kids.
Drove up,got out, came in, shot heroin,
and left.
"Leave It To Beaver" toshoot up and go
roll around.
"No, officer, I'm fine,"
andthere goes the Beav, back home,
to 20 cc's of white picket fence and applepie.
I hear poetry doesn't provide job security.
I probably should bereassessing my market value.
Guess I'll starve, but f**k it, I'm just not cutout
for administration.
Cubicles terrify me and neckties seemeerily
compatible with gallows.
So we were driving through the centralcoast
and I looked at him and said "Hey, Erick,"
and he said"What?"
and I said, "Hey, Erick, let's put that sign to betteruse,"
and I pointed at the Starbuck's coffee sign on

El CaminoReal
in Atascadero, Sunny California.
One of the really nice flagshipbanners,
I think we slept in a parking lot in San Luis Obispo
thatnight.
Great ground cloth, put the sign right
Under your sleeping bag,works wonders.
Anyway, Allen, how did idiocy and apathy become
virtues?
I think I've been born into the mall generation.
I think thealmighty dollar might be
falling from grace.
I was walking through Victoriaone night,
and I saw tagging, the most
beautiful tagging.
The soot-ladenside of a weary industrial building.
I saw it, that's where it was, Icouldn't
believe it.
Like the booming voice of our everydayterror.
Black spray paint and three-foot letters.
Simply ...RESIST.
Like the capital block letters of
a police report, but morelike
a telegram of what's to come.
Where's it come from?
Kids.
Kidswho aren't satisfied.
Kids who aren't happy with Coca-Cola diplomacy.
Kidswho watch their parents dig, and still not find

fulfillment
beneath 30thousand dollars worth of rubber and steel,
two-and-a-half children,
a dog,a cat,
and 4,900 square feet of space.
I shouldn't be complaining,
atleast I'm free, right?
When did freedom come to
mean the ability to conquerand consume with
maximum efficiency?
Did "freedom" somehow tearus from Indra's web?
When did financial security become the meaning we're
desperately flailing for?
How did Budweiser and prime time
replaceintrospection?
The dreamers and dissenters, told every day to "Justwait."
I think patience and carbon monoxide are akin.
Excitement onthe news the other day.
193 million dollars, and we all check thenumbers.
Guess we're all just waiting for our damn ships to comein.
Hopefully they're lost at sea.