Dear R. S.

Why is it I have glimpses
Of torture and sex and screaming
After reading Rolling Stone Magazine?
I normally have peace when I read my Bible or listen to music.
Maybe it’s Ginsberg haunting
Me from a few hours ago I read about his mother.
Maybe it’s Ellen & Sharon,
Maybe its Santana’s meditation,
Maybe it’s the inside scoop
On the next pop boy band sensation that I have to love.
Maybe it’s the Camels and Newports, Cowboys and couples,
That have nothing to do with lighting a fire
And inhaling the ashes and smoke.
Maybe it’s the vodka or tequila,
The smiling face of ignorance,
It’s bliss when you can’t remember, right?
Oh, yeah they said that at the bottom of the ad, didn’t they?
Maybe it’s me, but I kinda like confidence and peace and love
Not some perverted manipulation of it.