THE FUTURE IS AN OPEN BOOK

I sit myself
in the middle
of massive group:
the super-consumers!
Having done my 'rounds,
done my 'round,
and bored.
I gave and got myself
only for
a $3 pin.
I wait around
watching
waiting for the man
I call my father
to show.
I wait
I wait
around
I wait
I look out
and look
around.
Life is getting clever.
Life is thrusting
sending
delivering!
My senses.
This is the world.
This is the world.
Life is clear:
obvious,
ugly
beautiful.
I sit here.
When will the man
be satisfied.
I'm right
in the middle
noise
and people
everywhere.
I'm reading Wolfe's
Electric Test.
I am closing in
on the chapter,
"What do you think
of my Buddha?".
I think,
before I ever
heard of this
before I ever knew
of Kesey,
or Leary or Huxley
or Watts and
whatnot
I have put myself
into that open field
of mind operation.
The grand,
cosmic
jitter-smoothing
visionquest
you know?
a spacemission
you know,
the space in my third eye!
That THING that
makes perception
and that adjacent door
into perception.
This feeling is up to here!
I live and relive
and think and
attempt desperately
to perceive
and it's exactly
how it' is.
And in this heap
of human flesh
and heap
of mental activity
reading, living
and reliving, remember?
These words
are done well.
I read: PALO ALTO,
CALIE, JULY 21, 1969,
AND THE DAY
THE END
OF AN ERA...
I have been moved,
already by story,
and then this day
the people of Perry Lane
and, truly,
one of the first
genuine waves
of the sixties
died, for "the bulldozers
came" and everything
was taken down.
A slap!
Razing community
with intention to disperse
the growth of counter culture.
To replace it's root with suburbia.
The day the era died
the day
the era
died, my world,
was the day
my mother
was born.