American Dreams

It’s a time to be fresh, to be plucked wriggling out of a shining land or sea, a fresh humanity, still moon-ray buckled and gold, no evidence of city, and crap-house crud. America, you can do this. I am a being from the old, I am from the end times, my transfiguration is your promise our manifest destiny. It’s not too late, wipe your dirty face America. I am ready, ready to soar out of a landfill like a prismatic vulture, my naked head newly scrubbed of old blood.