Bob Dylan 

Guided people to their places

In the cemetery

Wearing a top hat

We were gone

Going

To Valparaiso

The Horn was sick and busy

I vomited my breakfast.

Pinochet welcomed us

With hands held out.

Marlborough and whiskey and 

Threats with burp guns.

Dont mention Victor…

Don’t mention the Stadium de Santiago.

Don’t mention Pinochet

Dragging mind in dirt

Like fifty filthy pieces of denial 

Don’t mention Jara

Love has died

Poetry is dead

The girl let me hold her buttocks

$20 for more

Poetry is dead

I stagger on stained and dread

High on the squaller and fear

Whiskey washing my head

Whisper the Stadium

Shy half smiles that beg you to

Fuck off and keep us safe.

I wonder why they don’t laugh

At Americas latest joke.

We thought the English are nice

Why are you the generals friend

It isn’t me

Twenty years later I still 

Cry with guilt….