A poem by: Ben Dunk. 1969.




Government’s observation has you taped man,

and computes your details world-wide.

The towers and satellites burble in your name;

your whereabouts is known however your hide.


Each country’s pride is a postal-palace,

where faceless minions of ministers

manipulate the levers logging dispraise;

passing suspicious conversations to ‘pouncers.’


Caught is the unsuspecting communicator

living secretly in the backmost-backwoods;

who writes and-or telephones his Mater

with political views and then in walk the Feds.


One day an impatient people arise hostile and destroy

this hated department of world-government

breaking down strong doors to burn personal histories;

securing freedom from subjection and torment.