California Will Sink

I woke up and looked around—

same old curtainless windows

torn shades thru which the sun

easily broke mornings. roaches romped

in brown paper sacks of garbage

and the pink fridge held

its hopeful vitamins

that would save me

from the smog and Food Conspiracy

and the dawn crept

across the windowsill

like a sick bum

and I thought: all this will change

and dressed and shaved and went down to the beach

and ran along the shore

nodding to the yogis in the lotus position

contemplating their acid navels

—the sun could not rise without their help—

and returned for lunch

and napped in the afternoon…

when I awoke it was evening.


I went down to the beach

and the whales were dying on the shore

and the sea lions perishing

and the fish uneatable

and the gulls choked with oil

and the plants withered

and the air brown

and the people irrelevant

victims of enterprise

denied, denied, denied

by the politician, the industrialist

and there was nothing I could do

but wait for the prophecy to be fulfilled:

California will sink overloaded with deathliness

into the Pacific

and what is the coast line now of many a land

will be the bed of the ocean…

the oceans are dying

all pollution goes to the sea

they are not dying of long hair and nudity

but the people cannot understand

they cannot draw sane conclusions

the people are sick

they have been too long poisoned

by lies, by flags, by slogans,

by counterfeit nourishment,


they do not know

they do not see

they are with the gull and the sagebrush,

the ocean and the spider,

the sky and the dove.


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