At Haight Ashbury yesterday
we walked through
an I be blinkin thinking
was it raunchy like this
from the beginning?
From 1967 love revolution summer
to devolution sleaze street bummer
the magic's gone
maybe puff the dragon's on
or did the neighborhood fall into some
Go ask Alice; I think she'll know.
Was descent from hippish sniffin
to hypish hawkin a given?
like destiny, always there to begin with
in the you-cant-put it-off-forever
headache stems and seeds,
Or did somethin fundamental change between then
I guess Life magazine left town
when the turn-on tuned out and dropped off;
the radicals crashed, their rose-colored dreams
After the serious communards got their fill
of castles in the air and starshine dreams,
after they flipped out on fickle fellow-man,
fed-up with hangers-on and turn-offs,
they flew the coop.
No more roll-another-one-my-friend;
you gotta take this rough life by the scruff, and fend.
But then we passed into a Park or Golden Gate--
it was some everland beyond the Haight--
where there is music of the ancient human soul;
there breezes blow and children go.
Their parents' call out gentle admonitions
that seem to banish old perditions.
And I hear trusty horses as they carousel around,
while mamas give loving nudges in the playground.
Cool breeze beneath sequoia boughs then reassured my soul,
after we had passed through Alice's raunchy rabbit hole.