America falls just fine without my eyes and ears.

When you grow up in the center of the universe,
What's it to you
If from somewhere
Out on the edge of western civilization,
Where a several century trans-continental rush
Of real estate grabs and techno-lust
Pulled up to a far-eyed halt at an Asiatic ocean,
There comes someone speaking sentences without subject
--And without object--
Just the vague drift
That once upon a time
Disillusion bred reality.

Berkeley, California, 1974 to 1979,
Not illusioned, not disillusioned,
Just tribal.
A nomadic exploration of what never was
And what never would be.
A living
In the shadow of the rainbow.