I am unemployed on Labor Day
I am the Jerry Lewis of the unemployed
the poor and the dispossessed
My telethon will raise a fortune
through the internet
I will dance with Leon Trotsky
on his own grave
I will get drunk with Dean Martin
and we will shall sing old Wobbly songs
I will erect statues of Woody Guthrie
all through your television sets
You will be astounded by
my address to the Fourth International
with no mention of Clinton Eastwood
nor his empty chair
You will be ravaged by my ability
to spread foodstamps through
the butter of your hair
with no mention of god or country
We shall rake in millions of dollars
for anti-capatalist propoganda
Mitt Romney will never see a penny of
For an extra fee
you can elect poet Milton Acorn as the president
A man who has tasted his own blood several times
in the trash heap of the Waverley Hotel
He will promote his poverty of enlightenment
He will put your mind to rest
with butterflies he made from his scars
I will introduce Jesus Christ
as a friend of the working man
He will open his lunch box and doves will fly from it
Leaving all of Manhattan with bologna sandwiches
Leaving all your mouths nourished
Leaving the Dharma bums enthralled
Your pistols shall melt in the air
and from their deadly silver
I will paint for you
the masterpiece you knew from long ago

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