so? america?

angst isn’t so much angst anymore
as it is a thing called america.
and america isn’t so much america anymore
as it is a thing made up of trashy
bits, pieces–refuse that has no other home.
And home isn’t so much a place where you live
as it is a state of mind that has been sold to you
while you cobble your meager scraps of
burlap wanderings so tough that not even
a bramble would find a home for rabbits there
only sheep, shorn, and led into the slaughter
of a gas chamber called exxon, or sunoco,
or shell, or whatever other hell you want as fuel
for your selfish petty desires that don’t resemble desire
as much as they resemble the white rabbit
you chase, not for knowledge, or time, but for whatever
drug sold to you that isn’t so much a drug
as it is a thing to believe, that you need,
that you breed into the dissonance you pass on
with each foreboding apocalypse, and good riddance
to the next person you don’t know, but disagree with
because, you know, your angst tells you so,


2 Comments on “so? america?”

  1. ryandpurcell says:

    Agreed. I like the imagery with the “sheep, shorn” gasoline bit. Brand names are very good, esp gasoline companies– the flashy colors of the logos, the toxic smell of autos, their insidious environmental and economic nature. They are so foul, and you make good use of their symbolism

  2. ryandpurcell says:

    Agreed. I like the imagery during the “sheep, shorn” gasoline bit. And your use of gasoline brand names effectively illustrates the themes of your poem- the toxic smell of refined petro, the sound of autos idling at the pump, the flashy colors, and iconic shapes and brand logos, and the underlying insidious nature of gas companies, economically, environmentally. Reminds me of “White Noise”

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