Final version of letter sent to The Times

Here is the polished version of my letter, in the style of Allen Ginsberg's Howl poem, to mark the 50th anniversary of it's first reading. Ginsberg's poem is now judged as having launched the first alternative generation, the Beats. The Times chose not to publish my letter. I wonder why:
Awake, sleeping millions of America!
Cosseted comatose in your cotton-wool cocoons,
you gurgle contentedly as intravenous doses
of supersize burgers counterbalanced by skinny lattes
drip drip drip into your arms
to chemically induce a xenophobic somnambulence.
Where are your angry poets of yesteryear,
who howled in San Francisco,
who exorcised the Pentagon chanting Out Demons Out,
who had a dream,
who headed off down Highway 61,
who stared fearlessly at what was wriggling naked on the end of their fork?
Where is William Burroughs' Dr Benway
when you need his unique brand of surgery
performed on your body politic
with a rusty sardine can?
America,
you need new voices in your ear,
shrill and disconcerting,
to wake you up before you Rip Van Winkle your life away,
while the world rails, burns and drowns around you.
Sleepers awake!