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