Sweet un-American,
poor
men with beards
drink
to the souls
gone
before them.
Perfect un-devotional,
your
father tells you
it’s
time to return
to
the confessional.
Dear institutional,
this
is not a time,
a
place,
or a religion,
but
only an idea.
With
it comes the responsibility
of
holding back the stones
that
wants to be thrown.
We
are not who
we pretend to be.
Crying perpetual,
we
receive our spirituality
through
greeting card episodes
and our
dreams from movie star celebrities.
A promised better tomorrow,
bargained and
settled for
a
24hr convenience store.
The
convenience will be
charged
to our children.
Their
children
may only know
the
answers given, not
the questions.
Their
children won’t
even ask.
Welcome invitational.
This
is the all glowing
state
of reinventions.
Caravans
and flotillas make their way to a new world mentality
where all other new worlds had failed them.
Grand recreational.
Highways run free to the oceans,
made
up histories,
make up attractions,
along the way to eternity.
Posted
along the side of the roads are
our causes.
In
our hands
sacred lands.
Truths…
Proud American.
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