Stare at the red candle, remember the smell of patchouli oil
With Red Leb from all those years ago. Remember~
On Saturday 4th July,1846 the  London Daily News
Extolled the virtues of this peculiar Indian oil in preventing moths.
Nothing to do with hippies except famished sloths.
India, Afghanistan olfactory-based imagined communities from the past 
Have a grip that wont last. Ad agencies will use the association between
Hippies and environmentalism to sell boringly green cars to the Saga
Generational Identities are stolen: purloined, acquired, appropriated.  
We are bound together by what we forget: Some crave security,
Predictability above all things. For them the other will always
Be anathema, an object of fear. But for me, just me, not part of any 
Community, imagined or otherwise, the enduring attachment
Is to the unknown, to variegated intelligence, to a common decency
Bought by men (un)like me at such an enormous, unforgettable price. 
Aghast at those who fly the flag in mid-November, comfortably numb
In their unspoken assumption that only those like me share this identity.