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Crown Jewels, Etc.

Our hamburger spring in New York,

Avoided pain like raindrops,

like Thomas Jefferson said,

in France, some time ago

And all the rooms stood empty,

On both sides of the Atlantic

Americans will let loose, bald hair and all.


And she looked lovingly,

amazed at my gaudy corpse,

Hid behind a smilei

in wigs and shit-

We tore up the court of St. James,

we ran the drugs in China, for many years;

but in West Hollywood we set stars in our eyes,

Only to escape to wooded paradises,

Fleece lined pungent smoke outs,

and intelligence reports-

to show you where I lived,

Many years ago.


And here, in the apples and hi-def fortresses

of the future we live,

Everything in our palms

taking a king’s share of oil,

and we deserve it.


And we ate each other, in Hellenic proportions,

from the Far East to the Evergreen South,

Rewrote history with our tongues,

Pressed linens to the world-

and sat in golden silence, like we should have-

A couple years ago.


To only send the big boys around the world,

We laughed at all the TV ambassadors,

all of tapestry’s sons and daughters;

We set up camp, Dubai, 20 million dollars, tried not to lose it,

to make a horse a senator and all that,

It would take nothing short of Indira’s embrace,

Of the Pope’s nod,

Of Mom’s hard parlance.


Our heads, ruined by Europe’s courts,

But I, American hero,

Raised on rap videos, and girls kissing girls,

And you, in your loose grace,

knew all the emotional rhythms of your youth,

You told me, and no one else.


So when the revolution’s got you down,

and the jungle remains,

When you and I laid in bed, in Sicily

And swore that Rome would relent,

And these guys with guns don’t matter-

and we could just take a summer,

Write books, I could cast iron,

we could move to Ireland and

you could swing a club or two,

for a few years.


and we flashed eyes at casinos,

forgot time

Writ summons, it’s all gone

but never would that stay,

So finally, peace-

I’ll be Vice President, write jokes

You’ll make a giant of someone

Our children at Harvard/Yale,

in 2040, with aliens in the air.


But well never forget the magic,

buried deep somewhere in Africa, the desert part

And they’ll speak so many languages



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