Bibliographic Full Form

WHAT PART OF THE DAY DO YOU SPEND RUNNING?
Bright after your breakfast o. j.?
for Tea? or maybe guests for cocktails?
Do you run for the mountain's, head from, for,
taxes, taxis, the draft the Heat the smog, the Valley?
Do you suffer the planes and fear bombing
flailing, failing in the city streets during
rush Hour, powerless mid day traffic, hog-tied
by brief case to the slaughter for the stake
of sheep in Chicago witch hunts
and the pangs, the screaming meemies of the o.d.
wad-e-melons uncle Tom's thumb up your ass
to the non-profit unsolicited tax deductible
chief concern of petrified white America: Bigotry.

Which part of the day do you spend running
to the mirror to check for pimples-acne
and other minor skin irritations to check
for that blemish which might succeed in never
getting you given away, discarded, thrown into
the ash can of institutions (i.e.) compulsory, impulsory
incarsartorial marriage.
Henry Miller proved you can be a slob and still-born succeed;
Hugh Heffner that you kan't.
So where does that push you? To the post office
the only place a hated hippy can or is able to get a job?
The Armed forces?

Me? I run to ward (fend off, hospitalize, isolate)
words, woods, to paintings sight to color and/or
drugs, takers, users, to the Sixth Sensation, flee
to flying saucers - intangibles, tangerines, the insanity
that will force, allow the law, the enforcers to meet
with the inviolable eye and millenial diabolicus, released
by their own Hydrogen bomb (tHreat) Heroin or Hubert H. Humphrey.

printed by
the communication company
a member of
Ups