Pitied be a Ginsberg, howling of a hipster hell

And a thousand solutions in search of a problem


Pitied be the Hippies, hallucinations in squalor

Expanding the mind not minding its expense


Pitied, the straights whose jackets are tighter


And pitied those who think


Pitied be the babies, who smile uncomprehending

Big eyes – big head – warm and smelling of milk


Pitied, the old, lonely and afraid, imprisoned

In aging bodies – while self itself is young


Pitied the smug middle-aged, very comfortable thankyou

And pity those who think


Pitied be the christians and their tortured Christ

And their ritual  cannibalism of communion


Pitied be their hypocrisy – and their sincerity

Their schisms and their sects appeal

Pitied their vicars convicted of buggery


And pity those who think

Pity be the Hindus, starving as they tend the sacred steaks


Pitied be the Buddhist blazing torches in Saigon


Pitied be Islam, and voodoo and hoodoo and all superstition


And pity those who think


Pitied be the negroes, blacked even by semantics

Blackhearted? Blacksouled? Dark versus light

Day versus night black mourning black


Pitied, the integrationist whose daughter wouldn’t like ot marry one though some of his best friends are


And pity those who think


Pitied be the jews who once killed a jew and incurred historical displeasure


Pitied, the anti-semite unloading his guilt, from the bottomless well of his faith


Pitied be the tolerant forever intolerated


And pity those who think


Pitied be the swindle of snide sex, the cockrampant lecher, the hustling whore


Pitied the ponce and its poufter, the Butch and the queen and the lesbian working in the corsetry store


Pitied the lonely masturbater and his empty fantasies


And pity those who think


Pitied be the underprivileged in the wasteland of want miserably existing to perpetuate their misery


Pitied be the wealthy in their worship of mullock, greedy and grasping ulcerated userers


Pitied the jet set whose bordom pursues and match 8


And pity those who think


Yes pity those who think

For thought is a twisted shadow of portrait of the real


But to be pitied beyond the bounds of pity is the epitome of pity.


Pity those who feel


H SV Beechey