The troops are marching, marching forward Into the valley of the blinkering light Camouflaged in uniform with just a hint of 'I' A pinkish shirt, a bow tie, a slightly rumpled suit or a perfect dress, a flash perhaps of jewelry or fashion And they sit under studio lights, wired to the ear and lapel And the puppy dogs bark as loud as they can While the old wolves wait to issue their statements Swatting away at the swarms of the press (And hiding their pleasure at the annoyance) They have their conventions, these soldiers Nothing personal (they say), and dinner some day, and best to your family at home My friend ... my good friend ... much as I respect ... Ritual abuse in the ritual words Words that mean nothing or worse Words that mean what the words aren't meant to mean But they follow a code and they rarely go for the kill And when they do, it's a flank attack (Sex and drink and sex and cash and sex) And nothing to do with policy differences, oh no Totally different issue, of course Have to distinguish and judge on the merits And it's just a coincidence we've never agreed And never expected to But the weapons they use would be banned in Geneva Poisonous gases that linger for life A corrosive sense of certainty A claim of truth so fierce that everyone knows it's a lie And now the troops are marching, marching again Their side and their side and their side and theirs (And mine? Oh, no, not mine; allies perhaps if I'm lucky) And the puppy dogs barking and the old ones posing While from behind the lines the tweed jackets and the white coats Lob their written rockets to the papers of record And the media squirrels away for their spicy nuggets Now chasing, now courted like a teenage flirt let loose And somewhere off in the distance is the memory of the Groucho Monarchs Wiping the tear-gas tears from their eyes in Seattle Real gas, real tears But photographed now and pinned in the collection Exhibit A of what can go wrong If people ignore the rules And now they talk of cloning And now they talk of embryos And now they talk of sacred things And still they use the conventional poisons The parliamentary postures The assurance that passes for reason This is medicine, this is murder, this is progress, this is obscene This is, this is, this is And is there a compromise Is there a line Can we agree Can we define, can we define, can we define No I know what I believe, and I know I may be wrong I know what you say you believe, and I know you may be wrong I have friends in this fight and I'm never quite sure if I agree with them For my friends they know to laugh But sometimes it seems they feel that they shouldn't I have enemies –– important enemies –– who are allies in this fight There are those that I simply despise working for ends that run with mine There are those that I rather admire leaning against or worse I like this As the troops are marching, marching And the music swells over Special Reports and Our Correspondent And all the foofaraw they plug right in To bracket the scene and frame the scene and make the scene the same as all the scenes they played last year and the year before and before and before As the ritual charges and counter-charges mount As the shouting rises to its small crescendo There is something possibly hopeful in the discord The sense that friends might disagree The idea that enemies can work together The thought that thought may even occur (A pincer move from left and right? No, that's the old, flat, two-dimensional cartoon This is the time of four dimensions, or five or more or more Warp speed and phasers on stun, prepare to engage, Mr Sulu This is more like a liquid sun Bubbling and boiling and solid from a million miles away) But the troops are marching, marching forward And the troops are marching like troops No one wins No one can win Not in the stench of poison Not in the pride of conviction Most of these soldiers have wonderful teeth And the illusion that this is important Most of these soldiers have fine intellects And the illusion that this is important Most of these soldiers have money and power And the illusion that this is important Most of these soldiers have shelter and food And the illusion that this is important Most of these soldiers have family and friends And the illusion that this is important Most of these soldiers have fallen in love and risen in wonder and joy And I wish I were certain they truly believed Just how important that is Why should they listen if I say I'm not sure? Because I'm right I'm right to be uncertain Right to be unsure Right to stumble Right to follow my confused heart Right to seek the Tao in this Right to be humble Proud to be humble Convinced of my doubt Shall I try to make a scientific case? Nature abhors the straightest of lines Heisenberg Heisenberg Heisenberg Random expression of genes The inexplicable complexity of a protein's environment Listen, listen When the TV wobbles, and you slap it and it works Somewhere there's a reason, sure, but you don't know what it is Somewhere some wire has groaned and changed Just so, if you shoot your modified gene into the blastocyst Something may happen Can you say what? Of course not Can you ever say what? I doubt it Doubt doubt doubt Shall I try to make a religious case? Original Sin, perhaps? Hubris? I don't believe in the Gods I don't believe in God (I don't believe in Beatles) Theology is not my game I simply refer you to those Who know (they say) and if they don't Believe Shall I try to make a Gaian case? An environmental case? An egalitarian case? A philosophical case? A transcendalist case? Would names like that count for more? Why? When the troops are marching, marching The troops need banners to carry I have no flag but this: I feel I want no flag I want to lose the flags All the flags Even the flag of the Groucho Monarchs The Groucho Monarchs have no flag Yes, even that Wake up, wake up It was not Ginsberg stopped the Vietnam War Chanting around the Pentagon Levitate the building indeed How irrational Unscientific Monstrous Say yes? Perhaps it was No, the poet with his finger-cymbals was not at the table in Paris Did not negotiate the murderous details List the events and number the missing and dead That was not the poet's job His job was to be And he was And the soldiers keep marching, marching and marching This time it's ritual slaughter And next? Next time's for real Just ask the Monarchs, the Groucho Monarchs but better the Monarchs themselves Floating in the air and eating poisoned corn Dying Dying Dying Am I to be called as a prophet? You gotta be kidding I'll flee to the mountains Walk till I drop Die in my footsteps Or peaceful in bed Watching the football Reading my mysteries Soothing my fevered brain to nothing Nothing Nothing calls me Nothing needs me Nothing wants me Now But Allen placed his queer shoulder to the wheel And he tells me I must too (Tells me from past his own end, tells without me, tells, just tells) And Allen tells me nothing at all And that's why I believe him Join us, join us With smiles and tears join us With open heart and mind join us With the fullness of your self join us With love and generosity join us With the best of the thoughts you can have join us With the sweat of your brow and the calluses on your fingers join us With anger for the abstract and hope for the misguided join us With roses tinged with the sweetness of rot join us With sorry rhymes and clumsy words join us With what you have and what you need join us With the sudden sadness of bereavement join us With the joy of a moment of beauty and truth, join us With the solitude of crowds and the vastness of the desert join us With the snow and the rain and the waves and the forest join us With the devils and the gods join us With the cruelty of nature and the healing power of sleep join us With the blessedness of life join us I do not need to know you, my friend, to love who you can be Join us, join us Join us now We need you as much as you need us