This struggling accomplished path winds,
Spiral like stairs leading us to the point;
Average wingedhipsters today more like
Displaced thugs. With no sense.
At every corner, we're speaking rigorous
That we all eventually yawn.your wombs
America, I'm wore out, worrying about
America, your womb's been cast out
America, our children are all fastly
Our roads turning into lavic landslides
Of unfinished destinies.
Prowling inadequacies are hard to out run,
When they're sewn into bone.
Absent of marrow.
Life too fully lived.
Gorged on the juicy decay of existence.
America!, Our infrequent landscapes
Have fragmented, pulled apart by every
Finger scarred with the blood of augury.
How many steps must be counted before I reach
The twisted vision of youths' immortal stare?
America!, I often try to remember that
There's more than you, on this continental
America, sometimes I lose track
How many lines have been navigated?
& yet the message is always still sitting
Beneath the page, Scratching these thoughts
In to sunlit sheets of autumnal growth.
America, I must stop listening to the staggering
Static soliloquy of your all too destructive nature.
America, I needlessly have lost all trace
Of virginity; Of the body; Of the soul;
& now, wafting in winds of mortal breath
America, I have lost the virginity of my mind.
Smashed with the aluminum ball bat
Of times anger!
These are the times.
These are the times.
Long bleached, drawn out
Boredom filled & kept just barely above
The soil by cookies, Ims, texts, tiny gigibite
Morsels & flash fictions. Oh America!
Don't you love the sound of the click
Of the mouse?
As I slowly click my mind
Away in a nuclear breeze
Caused by your terminal dis ease?
I have captured clouds here, bubbling
Fluffy white puffs of air; in my
Little skull shack.
I have snagged dragons' & used their scales
To construct new skin, their blood for ink,
I have given birth to a new world
That takes breath.
Breeding fire storms of molecular moans
& flourescent fuel for the trip.
America, I must warn you;
An apocalyptic fury grows here-
A song of departure.
My mucous thickens & etches itsself
in the soft corpses of trees
My hands tremble
America, holding the last aeon
In lap; Gurggling euphoric dangers
Of listening to the news
America, I must let loose
This desired dream of your once great