Struggling America

Hey Jack,
We're still out here.
Making the night.
Hiding the morning.
Struggling America.
We're still drunk when we can be, and when we'd rather maybe not be.... anything at all.
We're beat up, we sweat it out, we still let the coffee drip down the back of our throats.
We fall off our chairs and flick out our cigarettes.
We still kick dirt and fumble through each others beauty and madness.
We still love unconditionally and unrequitedly. We eat apple pie and rest against trees on hot days.
We still believe we will be saved.
Jack the moon still comes up with wine in his eyes.
And in some places Jack, they still Jazz. The slow Jazz. Not the mess of tumbling smart Jazz. Jazz you can dance to, the real stuff. The heart before it grew a head.

Hey Neal! Hey Charlie, and Judy,
We're still high as kites out here.
We're all prescribed Prozac personalities or Ritalin kids these days. Hook em while they're young that's what they thought one more perfectly functioning cog in the mind of the great machine.
Good luck America.
That shit never worked in the first place.
Hey Neal, you can't smoke that inside buddy. No one even smokes anymore anyway. That shit'll give you cancer. So will that corn on the cob or that soda pop. So will worrying about any of it.
We're still high as kites though.
All the kids, the eccentric ones, they're all hopped up hyper focused chemists now, making new drugs like you wouldn't believe! With all the letters of the alphabet. Well lubricated cogs, mad scientist shaman, long hairs in business suits. Building whole knew worlds of consciousness and fuzzier fuzzy feelings.
We're still high as kites out here.
Still speeding down the American vein.
With a headlight out.
On empty.
In the desert.
Picking up hitchhikers.....and praying.

Hey Robert, Allen.... Will and Patti,
We're still out here. Black sheep. With our art and our poetry, our sins and saints, our sexuality our mental states, food not or on our plates. We're still hungry. We're still out here hustling and dreaming... hustling dreams...day dreaming, drifting in and out of here....
Here!
We're still here!
Lost and found in America.
Making noise, making waves, belly laughing snickering smiling rolling our eyes, bleeding and sick and fucked and humbled and drunk and in love, with each other with nothing with everything with God and the goat, with ashes and music, with the piss in the street, with the stains on the sheets and our clothes, with the road, with locks of hair with the bottle with the gun with the pen with the laces in our boots and the shit on the bottom of them... We're still lonely and confused and absurd and completely devoted...maybe, in the end, to nothing other than the fact that we. are. still. here.....