What can we say now except we were misled.
In the nineteen sixties it was endless:
revolution, parades, injustice, and naming the guilty,
while one thing kept us free of real humanity.
It wasn’t us, it was them: in that denial, everything lost.
The power, the politicians: the cops, those poor
bastards just didn’t get it. We, the unemployed, knew.
Sex and drugs, absent the push towards revelatory
enlightenment to end in absolute reverence.
There were enough absolutes surrounding us already.
Drifting then even as now, nothing changed
but the degree of restrictions. We were waiting, somehow.
Hooray for us the happy fools shout, only
to be felled by betrayal, age, and assassins’ bullets.
Turns out all the purity, progress and beauty desired
resolved and awaited patiently amidst the pain,
the torment of merely being human again within a few
brief words of lightning, comfort and that old standby
love, which we did not recognize within the work of poets.
We did not need the amygdalin ghosts of LSD, mescaline
or hashish to bring us back from nowhere finally.
Like this cool morning I sit heavily clothed, upon the trunk
of the cypress tree, scattered leaves tumbling
on a breeze you feel somewhere else: even as the coffee
grows cold urging awakening finally from a dream. Your
Chesire smile, your belief in anything with beautiful clothes
and radiant flesh, pleasing as they must always be
remain tokens paid to escape the idea of what is always true.
‘Poetry that is classic and timeless.’
‘Vital, intense and uncompromising – singular in clarity, artistry, and authenticity.’
‘Work which illuminates as it informs – a reviving sense of discovery and perspective.’
**Dark Earth – ‘Rabelais and Hieronymus Bosch look out of dark chinks in these poems…’
‘The most unique set of poems I have ever read’
**Silence Louder Than A Train – ‘Highly recommended’ ‘..one would be hard pressed to do better…’
‘Dean’s books will someday be required reading…’
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