& everyday i sit here
trying to become one of you
trying on those high school dreams
it doesnt work
you dont fit me
as a poet i try to learn
how to remain human
& there is no one to learn from
i am still too young to
be quiet and contemplative
i dont want to become a golden ager
cowering before the tube in religious awe
businessmen and amphetamine ego trips
telling me about their latest coup
i visit churches & temples & ask questions
& i am handed some meaningless book
it seems as if there is no one
to answer my questions but me
a hideous responsibility
with worse implications
my peer group?
im going back inside my head
d.a. levy was a poet who published handmade books and mags and got his poems in a lot of places and is remembered for effing with east cleveland cops to the point they locked him up–for poetry–for smut, they thot it was,–for there was a minor there hearing it all, taking it all in; this got the attension of Ginsberg and the Fugs came and raised money and to this day a lot of his words ring true, and dont u wonder about the technology? where it has come since levy took a shotgun to his forehead? and where it is we are all going?
a graphic novelish version of the entire poem SUBURBAN MONASTERY DEATH POEM by Green Panda Press is available here. chckitout. take a look inside we all do.