Poetry

America? Is that you?
I’m surprised by you, baby. Fifty-three years since Ginsberg addressed
you and now look at you.
You’ve put on some weight, which is curious considering you have us all
constantly chasing that orgastic green-light at the end of that high-speed
treadmill you call the American Dream.
America take off your make-up; I believe in natural beauty.
America show yourself naked. I swear I don’t care about the size of your
cock.
America enough small talk.
America one time I put a Qur’an in the Bible section of the bookstore,
don’t get sore.
I read the Qur’an, don’t scold me.
I know what I’m doing.
This isn’t A Doll’s House, don’t treat me like Nora.
America the city upon the hill is being bombarded by bursting bombs and
sky-bumming buildings surrounded by smothering hazes of simmering smoke.
America you say freedom isn’t free. Do you take credit cards?
I’m afraid my life is beyond my budget.
America my sacred duties aren’t to you, they’re to myself.
America if you could see what I think in my head I would be in the electric
chair faster than you can say Habeas Corpus.
America my sacred mind thinks through things
My sacred mind sings softly but smugly under a smothering surface.
My sacred mind cracks cool whip for kicks.
My sacred mind through things thinks
My sacred mind burns with indignation while slipping on ice on the
pavement, twice, twice.
My sacred mind thinks things through.
My sacred mind plays “The Ballad of Ira Hayes” on repeat with boundless
sentimentality.
My sacred mind has page 67 of Catch-22 embedded in the back realm for
whenever I need it.
My sacred mind thinks not of nothing never.
My sacred mind is mine, mine, mine.
America I left you for awhile, did you miss me?
I missed you. I still miss you.
America let’s hug again; become one again.
America don’t you see?
America beneath the roar of your hallowed engine, I sing for thee!