Like cavernous expanses
(of sky)
Somehow grander on the inside
(than the out)
Entire vistas spread before the eye
(of the intellect)
This world that surrounds is small
(if only by comparison)
Entire symphonies, paintings, poems, architecture
(contained and bursting every bound)
A billionth the size of a star
(yet birthing universes)
missed a week
playing Reach
passed my deadline
enjoying playtime
sad to say
no poem yesterday
you'll get a better one soon
next week I'm setting an alarm for noon
In this world I have too little time
To spend all my days making up rhymes
So I sit here and tap
Less poetic than rap
Then go on with my life (and eat limes)
THIS IS AMERICA
endless, unceasing miles and miles of concrete and asphalt and tar stretch to the edge of sight
little orange lanterns hang above the sick metropolis of grassless, shadowed pavement
run-down houses and washed-out signs, neon flickers and weathered tin roofs,
bars on the windows
manicured lawns and fresh paint, new cars and housing covenant enforcers,
(fake) wrought-iron gates
sprawling monuments to consumption, wide walkways and a hundred doors for
clothes and sunglasses and lingerie and makeup and games and perfume and skateboards
sunrises burn reddish through low-hanging brown clouds of perpetual refuse cast skyward
horizons disappear in the tangled pseudo-grid of power lines
another construction project belches grit and sand and half-digested oil toward
heaven
THIS IS AMERICA
endless, unceasing miles and miles of meadow and forest and brush stretch to the edge of sight
little white lanterns hang above the sweet metropolis of grassy, shadowed plains
quiet brooks and sun-stroked forest, high mountain lakes and treeline
bare rock covered in snow
tumbling rapids and sweeping plains, lakes like inland seas and humidity
magnolias blooming early
sprawling monuments to majesty, narrow paths and a hundred sights of
wildflowers and lightning and caves and swans and redwoods and grasshoppers and stars
sunrises burn reddish through low-hanging white clouds of endless sea cast skyward
horizons disappear in the beautiful semi-rhythmic fall of cleansing rain
another herd of deer dashes along track and stream and dappled forest bed under
heaven
THIS IS AMERICA
THIS IS AMERICA
THIS IS AMERICA
