the beat parade

Blissfully out of the know,
wearing our beatnik glow
(Ginsberg and Corso in tow,)
we waltz our Shivaaic tango
down Queen Anne Ave...

purple lilacs mixing
with our unclipped locks
behind 'elvish-marked ears'
(as oafish men in suits
turn disdainfully away,)

the little drummer boy
beating like a cloth-sack saint,
as the stars cling
to our ill-flitted flannels
and our childish eyes
(following Thoreau and Rosseau,)
turn inward to the outgrown
kingdom of heaven,
well outside the world of
Ivy League dorms and
knowing social norms...

We swig, dance,
and sway to a different drummer's beat,
seeing a 'brave new world'
replete with walled-off-streets,
manic antic media,
and shrewish 4-star cynics,
(hating marijuana)
but high on inhaled rocket fuel
taking us all,
headed straight for a Zeus comet...

only Dionysus can save
us now