Thoughts of America

The smell of cow fart in the morning dew,
The smoldering wood inside an old fashioned
diner, in Nebraska, the waitress arrogant
but smiling, serving you your bacon, egg and
cheese and sausage, or pancakes, or some
other fatty food that has made everyone
in the room as gassy as their cows.

The silent walkers walking to work, looking
intensely off into the distance, avoiding eye
contact, occassionally smiling if you both are
pleasant looking and nicely dressed, or ignoring
if otherwise. A bum parts the aisle
with the jingle jangle of the nickel, dime
and quarters in his can, spreading the smell
of piss in the air, and he is fat too—
All the white folks slowly disappear as
you slowly enter into the Bronx.

The traffic james of L.A., the other paranthysis
that ends the beautiful lands that make
this content, now filled with toxic waste sites.
The happiest place for me was Butte, Montana.
The armpit or the butthole of America, but
people were jolly and they drank and took drugs on
streets named after minerals. With an impending
flood of chemicals from a lake where birds die if they land.

America, America, your endless roads,
the rocky mountains, the woods with the
endless stars, but all regulated, requiring
premission from someone or another,
with no close family members near the
Grand Canyon, but only guest hotels,
I’ve never been but I can imagine
the expensive car to rent with no
public transport. And you probably can’t
even get in to the canyon, just look
from afar. Look but don’t touch.

Environmental protection, and then the
toxification, drinking coffee to work, tipping
the barista, like it’s the new church,
hipsters with mustaches, looking gloomy, but
feeling happy in their new clothes, judging
the Mexicans, but eating their tacos and opening
a vegetarian taco place.

An the old folks in Florida with their
alligators roaming free in bathtubs and swimming pools
delivering the weirdest of news, eating someone’s face off,
kids shooting up schools, metal detectors before
class, pretentious cops, and highway patrol, sheriffs with
sunglasses and hats, black people with no water or electricity
during hurricanes, up in the projects, an old woman lives
alone. All the white old people in retirement homes. Kids
too busy with their own kids.

Ad agencies running for election,
people running to live longer, suntanning
in the parks, but most just driving
a five minute walk to 7 Eleven,
Thank you, come again, say hello
to my cousins in every Dunkin Donuts,
they keep America moving or running, or whatever
you wanna call their self-destructive plight
to be the best in the world, with
full knowledge of the history of fallen civilizations.

America, the home of free speech, my ass
wiretapped and numbered with a barcode in your eyes,
your finger prints mapped out, your credit cards maxed out,
Sallie Mae knocking on your door, and your
friend’s door looking for you, collectors, Naughty
America, you lure our eyes with sex, tapping into the
monkey brain, reducing your own to monkeys who
work work work, make money, then sing songs about
work and money, and everyone knows that it’s going downhill,
but maybe too much roller coasting has made you forget
that you only swerve up and get saved from death in
theme parks.