America,
it’s too loud.
Is Wall
Street occupied or just busier than usual?
Are your
parades for change or just cacophony?
Jesus
Christ, America.
The veins
look blue, but I’m told they’re red.
Color is an
illusion, much like reality, so why does it have to be such an issue?
Is there
nothing left but voices?
What about
words?
Consonants
and vowels.
If it’s all
about noise, then let’s scream with each other and not at.
It’s all
gibberish anyway.
It doesn’t
make sense, America.
Are we good
men, or has feminism damned each and every one of us?
America, am
I a child?
Tell me.
I want to
think for myself, but not if there’s going to be this much shouting.
America, am
I in the wrong century?
Is this a
frat prank or a good lesson?
I don’t like
your universities, they’re just making sausages,
and some of
us are too willing to be ground up.
Nothing has
any flavor any more.
Your
cigarettes have left me too content.
If my
fingers are going to smell, then I want to earn it.
America, why
is Richard Branson trying to own our skies?
Why have we
given up on space?
I’m in the
city, I’m used to it, but people in overalls like to look at the heavens.
We should
let them know what’s up there; not just look, too.
Americana
sounds too foreign to me.
Why are we
bathed in it?
Why did we
give the dustbowl to Mumford and Sons and their pub friends?
America, I
will spend my life trying to change you, like a Mafia wife;
always so
happy when you stay the same.
America,
where is Dr. Kinsey when you need him?
It seems
like time’s rich for him, right now.
America, I’m
sick for you.
You are the
cable drama ingénue that will cheat on me as much as I cheat on her and still
end up looking like the good one, the sexy one.
I will end
up being a better person, somehow, for loving you.
America,
your mountains distract me.
Your lakes
speak like oceans
and your
oceans are merely a buffer.
America, it’s
too loud.
