America Will Never!
Look out, here she comes again riding
the waves as usual, indifferent to our
lack of caution. And that’s the problem.
Heaven forbid we should forget ourselves:
The frogbound pond observes our nakedness.
Perhaps their amber eyers relax us for the
axe and Amy Simple rides to give our Granny
forty smacks. We lie in myriads so sleek.
Come, let us anoint ourselves with oil and
seek the holy whale. But then she lisps,
“Where’s the men’s women?” Ah, there in the
sky some transcendental pizza, laminate of sun.
And we almost choke on clusters, many marbles.
You count them. I am tired of lying to you.