On the cusp of the 60s and 70s, 
68 went down as the year 
of cultural revolution. 
Psychedelic shirts
with LSD phosphorescent eyes. 
I know. 
Saw the living colors myself 

Walls inhaled and exhaled 
scents of patchouli 
and cheap strawberry incense from India. 

Saw those grimacing faces above the long-haired crowd 
twisting hideous. 
I was the youth then. 

"Down with the establishment" was the chant.
Government? What a downer. What a bummer. 
"drags" were for "squares." 

The institutional church reeked
as did the communist cult 
not into being reduced  to
a number for a 
system of power claiming 
my own good
 
more into getting naked 
rather than getting put in a straight jacket

Politics proved to be only good 
for starting wars. 

I met Pisces Tom
partying in Coyote Canyon
near Joshua Tree. 
a genuine Haight-Ashbury hippy
who went off the grid 
to live 
in a bamboo forest smack dab
in the middle of the Mojave desert. 

Tom raised a hog
painted eerie space mandalas
and made LSD from soaking marigold seeds. 
When he was tripping
thought he could pan gold
from the desert sands
of ancient seas. 

Some of Tom rubbed off on me. 
How different today

dancing to the establishment's dirge 
while pretending not to be.