Wind,
Pass through me.
I'm a window

if only you knew
the things that i do.

Your heart is a black crystal,
glowing soft and slow,
like the *** of a cigarette.
Ember-like, but depleted of all color;
an oxymoron of idea,
opposing ends of a magnet.
Impossible yet somehow one being.
That is your heart, and it is also mine.

And suddenly it was ten-til-two.
And where had the day gone?
It had been whispered into the liquid
crystals of my computer screen,
and drowned in a bowl of leftover pad thai.
I suddenly was supposed to feel tired,
but instead I was depressed because tomorrow
was calling, and I didn't want to run.
My eyes were watering, all of a sudden.
And the screen kept on whispering.

She said, over and over,
That she went back to black,
but never was she anywhere else.

America
Born of fire and ice.
****** from the womb of discontent
And a fiery gestation which curdled in the throats
Of young men.

America.
Thrown out into the cold.
Birthed by force,
Cut from the natural cord by
Ben Franklin,
Thomas Jefferson
& the boys.

America
John Adams spoke it into existence.
And soon the unrest would begin.
Born from the killing,
Born to experience every thing.

Born,
And crawling about, like an infant,
Oblivious to all but the self,
Knocking down furniture and sticking
Fingers into sockets.
Electricity.

Born
Born with a destiny,
Born out of the indignation and the self-proclamation,
A ****** birth,
Created of nothing, out of mere air.
Immaculate and supernatural.

America.
Jesus.
Created by God,
Those Men of the original 13.
Coming on ships and cooking Thanksgiving dinner.
Men with their hats and their guns.