comicprints

America. Stars and stripes. Cola Bottlecaps and rodeos. Red Chryslers lighting up the highways. Manifest destinies stretching on forever. Pioneers push forward. Indian tribes rustle in the grass. Blue and Gray crash And the downtrodden rise to new heights. I have a dream. And it is at midnight When I am with my father And we sit at Columbus Circle And the stars beckon of the future That I feel the immensity the most. Fitzgerald and Kerouac create ideals Robert Johnson plays at the crossroads Shuster and Siegel create four-color worlds And Marilyn Monroe sings of diamonds. James Dean watches from the wind. We sit in silent recognition. The

We are all inevitably forgotten in our own lives. Others strut and talk and ignore us- they can't Comprehend our meaning and existence in Their own terms. They mock us and chide us, they think They are better than us. They are NOT better. We are NOT better. A treaty will be drawn On a future day. I will destroy it, spit And defecate on it. Why should we give up? We are knowing, we are single and alive. We are the dead souls, we search and we destroy. We are the PUNK. We are the forgotten boys.

His eyes pierced me, a silent probe in The unknown darkness; his voice relaxed me, Acknowledging and accepting my pain. His presence, as transmission in my ears. I danced to the radio. Dead souls are Calling me, telling me I've lost control. Atmosphere fills me. Unquaveringly, I surrender; to his spell of words I SURRENDER.