sunday taoism two

my Love is progressive
and someone says “there will never be another Whitman like you”
and all the Ginsbergs got shot
and no will give grants anymore
for the people that speak their minds
and MacArthur can’t be the only one
that can feed the starving artist
McDonalds once a week.

my Love is progressive
the innovation is holding me back
while rape whistles alerted the Catholic school quads
pranks done by the drunk frat boys
that had no one else to fuck.

my Love is progressive
and everyone is alone tonight
from the boys that won the weekend
to the poet that found his fun else where
and everyone is sad but too afraid to show it
but who among us is so proud
he sings about it loudly?

my Love is progressive
and how awful is it at the bottom
and how wonderful it is to understand
and to contemplate it
dissect it
systematize it
and draw in all its laudable strength
into a single breath
as it’s the last
or the first.