I am you, US
I have reams of dreams (just)
screamin to be released (to have peace)
from their back-shelf solitude,
where they brood with ceaselessly crude
but potentious attitude
hootin boozin and shootin
for my pie-in-the-sky artificial highs to trouble my
bubbly moods, to force me to the coarse/course
to peruse and eventually vocally, locally use
their unrequited blues to proclaim their slighted, urgent news
that I been lazy, my mind’s sinned (hazy)
thinkin I grinned on hi-fi, removed from
the drive-by’s shocksong when I’ve known all along
how quick that violently slick seedy shit has flown around
to grow from the common to my higher ground (zero)
where the 9-1-1 glow has shown we reap what’s been sown
(and sometimes I try to deny that it’s doubly towerin so
when single CEOs seem to run the show
and are deemed key-to-the-city worthy
to reap oily spoils when whole peoples cower
in fear since showerin heatful sparks sear memory
with clear signs of smoke-dark skies;
lies about global liability have choked stark responsibility).
Time to wake up, find what kind of forgotten-shelf shake-up
will make myself face up those woe-begotten tracts
of visionary facts that speed my evolutionary pace up
yet avoid those drastic acts that in time stoke the spastic fire
that chokes reasonable higher minds’ dream desires
into mean crime and smoke.
