From Lorenzo Thomas' Fit Music published by Angel Hair Books in 1972 with cover by Cecilio Thomas. 

When poets beg acceptance for their lines
It’s when ephemera and wisdom intertwine
When dull biography engulfs a poem,
The poet shores his patron with a Proem
To raise his thought above the dross of life
Since life intrudes, the Proem is a gloss.
Deja vu more or less. Most likely, more
Should fit you now to hear this song of strife.
You spent childhood rehearsing the Korean War
You fucked up in college and picked the wrong major
And in 66 everyone faked concern with Asia
It was all more fitting than you thought;
That staging. When the orders come down
For the Nam fourth of July as is fitting
You implored the Muses to fly from their knotting
You totaled the Chevvy out of meanness
You whined and wondered how to escape this mess
And Lord who to write to. There should be a Lord
If there must be a Proem you thought.
But there was none. Only your drunkard
Friends your dope fiends and pimps
Demon lovers and lovers. And girls dumb
To the morse code from space still arriving
While Zia suns cracked over the desert,
You fled through archives in your brain
Remembering acidulous hash and devotions
Consecrated by the pain of navigating through wine
In peaceful East Coasts full of bare bodies
And icy streets under neon. Now tropical death
Leaped before you. You wept. Wastefulness when
The car ran them down. And the orders came down
As your prophets demanded. Strange FM stations
And astrological phonecalls hastened to soothe you,
Saying “don’t give a damn.” It was time
To be going. Vancouver or South Viet Nam.



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