I reached enlightenment going 75 on a highway on a summer night
No visions of Blake
Only spirits of Kerouac and Thelonious Monk beside me as I sat glued to the wheel
The psalms read as tail lights
The night smelt like memories of Boy Scout camp in the hills
I saw all of the kids of the American night as they should be
O holy angels
Fresh cut sunflower souls
Finding cute boys in Nashville or Indiana
Breathing in every ounce of childhood nostalgia with cigarette whispers
The only cigarettes I smoke are the secondhand whisps from close friends
The smell of cigarettes reminds me of lost love
No tears of Marx
Karl Marx is asleep tonight and all is quiet
Josef Stalin sits in an alley
Gut rot drunk and weeping
Somewhere in South America Trosky weeps through holes in his head the shape of ice picks
O American children
Drinking 100 proof distilled American passion
A stronger high than all the drugs I have never taken
A stronger kick than all the boots of the ones who won't put up with apathy any longer
Tonight we are the ones who are holy and crying
The chill of the night seeps into my bones and I shake with the earth and with drums and saxophone and everything sounds as it should
Paul Robeson my heart goes out to you wherever you are tonight
I stand watch so the skeletons of Babylon can throw stones at you no longer
The shattered glass reminds us the struggle isn't over
O American Angels listen to me ramble
I have sat in ecstasy and seen the smile of God and everything will turn out ok
Death comes when it has to
Don't rush it my friends
Until then raise whatever glasses you have as high as you can
Use the stones they throw to build your foundation
Kiss the ones you know in your heart to be holy
Don't worry how loud you are yelling
This is America and you don't have to be sorry
This is as beautiful as we allow it to be
This is as many tears as we can afford
Only saints cry on Thursdays
And tonight the wisdom of sages are written on bathroom stalls for whoever cares enough to read it
Bless everyone who sneezes
Don't  tell yourself that you aren't enough
Don't fool yourself that there is an enough
You are already as complete as you can be
You are the sunflower soul
You are enlightenment
Going 75
Down a highway
In the American night

FRESH
His parents are completely lost; they don’t know what is going on
He’s skipping school, he’s talking back, the boy they knew is all but gone
He’s scared he’ll be made fun of, if he comes off as too pure,
Besides, it doesn’t hurt to live a little, of that he’s very sure.
It hurts too much to be different; he has to be the same
And though he knows it isn’t right he falls into their game
He falls hard and breaks himself over and over again
The girls, the drugs, they’re all that matter, its etched into his brain
Euphoric pleasure clouds his vision; he can’t see what he’s doing
It makes him blind, it makes him numb; he can’t see where he’s going
The jagged, thorny, downhill path somehow eludes his very eyes
And all he sees and all he hears are what they show him and all their lies.
He’s made a choice to breathe their fumes and live off their sweet poison
The high it gives, it separates him from the soul that he keeps bruising

MATURE
Oh the pain of memories! The times he used to have,
He’d trade an arm, or both his legs to the one who floats above
To have them back, to live again, if only for a moment
When aging was a distant threat, when he knew not what it meant.
Now life is far less exciting, work, wife and children
Each a challenge on its own, a dream until he had them
He’s overworked, he’s very stressed, he’s broken down in every way
He rises up before the sun and boards a trosky every day
It’s off to work and back again, how much can a poor man take
He needs to rest before he dies; he needs more than a simple break

GRUMPY
The youth they think they know it all, their twisted sense of right
He wishes for the good ol’ days when bark was equal to bite
As his daughter scolds her son, he shakes his head and then he grunts
If he were her he would have spanked that naughty child over his pants.
Fear, that’s what it is, they’re scared of being hated,
Can you believe she had the nerve to call his ways outdated?
Yes, he admits that might be true but weren’t they effective?
He’s given up advising them, their hearing is selective.
Why should a man as wise as he even waste his breath?
At least he knows he won’t be bothered when he sleeps in death.