Williamsburg

.
"Our rock stars are ricotta
makers"
lucid righteous Greenhorn hippies say,
they seem to lack
reluctance, resignation and
dismay.
The journalist is tactful, almost
respectful. To leave behind whatever,
is all our dream, till the day
without escape arrives
to our arrest.

As protesters throw biofarmed potato
salad at the Gene Bank labcoats who
posess "the power to take DNA samples from anyone
over the age of 10 who is
arrested," seeking out
those who are preprogrammed,
potentially paranoid, "We have to find
who are possibly going to be
the biggest threat to society,"

weeding out the antisocial rabble
from this our Garden, "to thy fair
flower add the rank
smell of weeds" before its blossom, for Control
over all of creation, from procreation
to recreation, prescribing
appropriate content for an already
discontentfully entangled nightmare
of stigma. Targeting young people, top priority.

Censorship, prohibition, the usual sterile shit
For our children's developmental benefit.

***

So you want to be a farmer? Leave behind
the game of game certificates, just go
and till unmonitored soil? Is that so
fine?
Cultivating sandpit oases
to feed the spinning windmills of your mind
in half forgotten dream far out beyond
the confused politics of food,
following studied roots
down, diving
into attitude,
into good
living.