Tinged with vaginal aftertaste
the whole hills of America come rolling in.
Yes to the evil brilliance and beauty of this erring and great nation.
Filched by hypocrisy and self-lust it marches in my own bones,
I subvert where it inhabits me, we exchange with one another,
our intermittent energies the color of light all the way through
a mountain tunnel thrumming with long metal anti-laughter,
not just speaking but shaping each other out of the air,
becoming real to one another, frightened by each others naked grime,
the lines of a bare foot on lunar dust are read and re-read by
terrorized by repeated scrutiny of genius
weaponized and warped into false identity by the pressure of insanity,
influenced by fear to dance, to float objectively without examination,
to fucking fly, to be unreservedly in an hour of glass exact
as an hour of steel, filled and re-filled in cusp in crest and in crash
the dog of yesterday and today's cat, the feline inhabitant of
a departed madness.