“America”

America, the days of antiquity are now,
still there is a frontier,
still there is mystery beyond the Mississippi
still all the wild West is rolling endless and volatile:

Sierras rising jagged sawtoothed in to the sky
furious cold Colorado running through
lonely Arizona desert, and cavernous
Utah canyons, pools of air in the Earth,
the palm of God scooping the dirt,
he wrought scripture through the landscape.
Then of course where it all ends,
the ghostly Pacific looming beneath
the suddenness of California cliffs,
holding all the promise of
land that could have been but
instead was drown.

America, this land is my land, it’s
your land, too.
America, your cities are sick
the buildings are tall, I can’t see the sunset.
the lights are too bright, I can’t see the stars
and forever I hear the howling traffic
barreling through the empty night,
and laying down in bed I feel
poisoned, mad, dizzy
claustrophobic.

Don’t say I don’t know what’s best for me,
that I need to buy what you’re selling.
America, what are you selling?
I don’t need so much.
I don’t need anything you can make;
I am wealthy already.