dollar signs in dimestore windows,
milkshakes for a quarter.
non-filter cigarettes and broken Trojans,
long hair ironed with loving hands.
when revolution smelled like sex,
and god reeked of napalm.
when young girls with hard nipples
passed doobies to wide eyed poets.
and the streets convulsed with anger,
that sat at the back of the bus.
while religious M-16’s jammed,
and radical students were beaten
with patriotic pride….
as young bodhisattvas with thumbs extended,
rediscovered the land of the free.
and for a time not owned by owning,
we heard the beat of a distant drum!
i am only as old as oceans,
crossed at the cost of life.
and prison cells that defined freedom,
more by the given than the taken.
when right meant more than morality,
and intent itself became destiny.
when color became a flavor,
and all tasted good.
when freedom felt like dignity,
and every hand fit!
i am only as old as dreaming,
the dream forever new!