The nineteen seventies were shot with an amber filter
In warm golden tones and fuzzy edged smiles
They reeked of explosive projections -
And possibility set to falling stars,
Or the exclamations of self expression
Beneath a buzzing amber streetlight,
It had a quaint yet sinewy character.
Bold faced and high steppin,' we held up our heads
And strutted our luck like
A shot in the dark,
Or an educated guess...
The internet didn't exist and a bluff
Was as good as its construction
Or its delivery
Who knew?
And who cared?
It was a frontier untapped
Metalized with large acrylic panels
And power under the hood
Wide open spaces and cow farms
Composed of sunsets and mustaches
And chicks in halter tops
With embroidery
And swollen tits
And constellations of silver jewelry -
So much mystery and hard on possibilities
Like the rigid stalks of water plants
And the receptiveness of young girls
Looking for a time that could be
Hacked from this endless stream of boredom
With images of future offspring
Affixed to the wall,
Cute at first, children of God, but then
Be speckled and intent on patricide,
They engineer a new world
with dozens of busy fingers, gathered
Out of the bicep of this drunken extravagance
And horny egotism
This Woodstock world, verdant elfin cornucopia
Organic, ecstatic expression of epiphany
with its straw bound iconoclastic harmonies
And tangential extensions of archetypes
Inside the leafy fold of nature's buoyant arms...
We rocked and rolled
And found synchronicity with our senses
Only to be singled out
And systematically truncated
When the party ended
And the bill was due...
It was about this time
That disco had come to rule the world
