hand
on my heart, diving into the tides
a
speckled vine loose Sun
is
in the wet diamond memory
of
the rain from last night
the
maple's scattered branches
are
everywhere
outside the pines
and their leaves
are
staining
the concrete again
in
tannic screams
it
must be Autumn
waiting
in the wings
in
the cold damp morning
in
all the seed-bird calls
that
have gone South again
and
inside my mind
before
I rise
America
is no longer here
it
is a world stage instead
with
actors playing
the
parts from everywhere
as
my dreams are a hull
that
slips a wake past
the
aggregate floating masses
that
pass as the philosophy
of
blood in plastic pools
I
am just one of those fools
lucky
to be born here
bastard-ized
and given
a
choice to be a lion
that
eats the lambs
another
silent dutiful hand
of
a patriotic inhumanity
no I say
when I awake
America is still here
divided
as ever
when
it comes to understanding
which
is why when I get up
I
look outside without demanding
I
go outside and feel
where
the water is standing
and
the road beckons
for
a bath
and
change
of
dressing
EJR
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