ode to allen

your generation has grown and abandoned the Red

it appears to be a disease that comes with age

accompanying the degeneration of body and mind

the degeneration of soul

and so we of today sit trembling

with our own bottles of whiskey and

clutching the old poems

a palimpsest of jazz whether consciously or not

we await the old enemy

Time

that robs us of our ideals and hope that

this time we have It right

our Shakespeare has grown to be plain

his metaphors are trite

but he is still revered

the message has not changed

so we shout it from the rooftops to the stars

and your Eternity

our Denvers much less exciting but enthralling in their own right

we have all grown mad but that is to be expected

and so our streets are full of the crazy

run by the insane

as our madhouses sing to the Gods of sanity

and genius has been subdued by a red stamp

and shackles

blindly we trip through alleyways searching for the Love that will save us

while Buddha sings his Ohms 

and you watch from your paradise and smile

because we are still hysterical

and have not yet found our clothes.