(after Allen Ginsberg’s "America")

America, I am free here To wade through tall grasses Of dollar bills. I lay me down

And dream of taking over The world. I don’t understand Why the world is so hard

To digest even in dreams. America stretched from sea To shining sea, I am hopping

Through your vast unmarked mine Fields of billboards with lewd Neon lips on one leg.

I am a poor imitator of those Whose are forced to eat metal churned Out by your factories everyday, America.

Metal confetti thrown from helicopter Gunships. Metal blooming like poppies in spring. Metal too is the shell in which I crawl across

You America. You also give me Books. I lose myself in your libraries I am happy feasting all day.

America, why are our hungers Both so terrible to this earth? When will we learn to be content?

America, why are your prisons So huge? Why am I so empty Here, America?

I wander through your hilly breasts, Through your dark woody hair, And drink your riverine love fluids

America, you lovely orgasmic thing. How much happiness have I Known here. And how much pain.

America, why are we divorced From reality here? Have a cocktail Of viagara and prozac after every meal,

Read Whitman and ask what is reality But a leaf of grass?
What do we need a cure for, America?

America, let’s do it fast. Let’s do It slow. Let’s say ‘Hallelujah!’ Let’s say ‘Hosanna, Hosanna!’

As God falls like autumn leaves Over our bodies coiled in the grasses, Tight as serpents, ready to strike!

Ah! flower not to be touched, Ah! flower of transparent secrets, Ah! flower of boleros,

I give you two gardenias in love Standing in the garden after the Fall. Look here, look at me, with your eyes

Of whorls, bend down your lined Eyes, stems of spring green. Cure me of this long sickness

This mark of Cain I wear, A burning coal between my eyes, Touch me, touch me before winter

Snows with your snowy hands. How I seek to drown in the rain- Drop of your fragrance!

Ah! flower of absences, Here are two gardenias In love.

[1]

She stands up, still, Like carnations In a florist’s window.

I am on the street, On a clear fall day After few, many, days of rain

Eyeing her. I have tied My hunger down To my spine. Shop glass,

Silica of years and miles, Also gives back to sight Silvers of myself on petals

Of afternoon light. Darkness Meanwhile burrows deeper In the hollows of my fingerbones.

[2]

Say yes. I am waiting to unbolt my fist. I am waiting to root you in my chest.

Say yes. I am waiting to go on wandering into The unceasing and changing seasons Wearing a flaming shirt of carnations.