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A. D. Winans |
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SATURDAY NIGHT SPECIAL No need to go to the movies More than enough action Right here at home In my living room Sirens wailing in the distance Police helicopter circling overhead Search light igniting the sky Shadow like figure leaps over fence Like a skilled track hurdler Dogs barking like sea lions Neighbors peering out of curtained windows Looking like a peaking tom Inn search of a cheap thrill Hugging the night air like a chilled lover Shivering in anticipation Intruder frozen in spotlight Drops to the ground on command Looking like a dead man Laid out beneath a sea of stars ANOTHER BEAT POETRY FESTIVAL I don't trust these poetry organizers Reliving the lost generation Reliving the Beat generation Their days lost in archives Their nights in media hype The pages of their lives falling Like costumes from a cheap clothes rack Nights meant for creating poems They spend masturbating Undressing the dead Spreading their seed like a trail Of bread crumbs no one cares To eat SITTING BULL Sitting Bull Poet of the plains You fought the white man's army To a stand still Only to wind up as Buffalo Bill's sidekick Sentenced to kill Custer over and over again To the cheers of Wild West carnival shows From horses and buffalo To black exhaust fumes Blue coated cavalry in every mirror Forever branded with the White man's scars |