icarus lays in his bed now,
an advanced placement scholar with distinction, high honors,
(his name embossed in pearly white letters on posterboard like a movie star)
drunker than he's ever been,
waiting to pass out under the gentle caress of the full moon.

who would have thought
the boy destined to scrape the sky on golden wings
would be passed out on his bedspread like a delinquent?
(it's the quiet ones you gotta watch out for,
the ones who retreat to their silent cave to descend into a fuzz of various intoxications.)
meanwhile, the dean of admissions preaches abstinence
from liquor, grass, and hazy nights.
after all, the true, distinguished, scholarly scholars
would never partake in such acts.

icarus dry heaves into his pillow,
knowing he'll regret going into his advanced calculus test
with the mother of all hangovers.

Hippie #73,
she walks like the leopard in the savana of San Francisco, the blonde peacock on the jungle throne

Hippie #73,
a product but a voice, with wings and some uncut claws

Hippie #73,
A nymph and a marcher, with a paintbrush and a posterboard

Hippie #73,
originality is wavy like the rainbow sky, but the lights are bright in the raindrop's shadow

data
all arranged collimated
in neat rows columns
speading sheets all laid out
on rooftops with SOS
written in red paint calling hecilopters
help us it says
water is good unless it inundates
and is ***** with sewage and the government flies by
looking but doesn't do it
before it ends there are accountants
adding tallies costs against lost lives on
a white sheet a
gamma line
going steadily up to the right corner
of a clean paper sheet maybe a posterboard for added
emphasis
etchy red line exponentially  rising up up away
in that line are lives against costs the government
sitting on markers
red crayons calculators
basing missions against costs like lives are expendable
how much can we spend for a bunch of creoles or  ****** in New Orleans,
someday white folks you gonna be the minority.
I'm
red
I'll rate in the minority
no matter what.

I wrote a poem once in fine
point pencil that went
unnoticed so I erased it

I wrote my next poem in nib
and ink from a well
and spilled the ink all over it

I next tried to write a poem
on an old fashioned typewriter
because the ribbon was all dried out
it turned out unreadable

So I decided to try posterboard
and a King Sized Sharpie to write upon
my next poem  and...