I printed out America
I looked it up on youtube
And I lost it.

Where are you, America?
Did you hide under my communistically red bed sheets?
You’re not there

Are you the piece of paper under my ****?
No, that's another Ginsbergian poem full of soul and extra brilliant kindness.
Are you on my wall?
No, Baudelaire and Mayakovsky turn their heads in disagreement.

Are you one of the leafs in my room of poetry leaf fall?
Do you lie sublimely on my shelf along Nabokov and Turgenev?
Or are you the paper I left on the table in a rush?

Do you lie scrambled in my bin?
I know you never would
Or perhaps the wind took you away
And you forgot to wave?

America, I put my queer hands down in desperation.