America-- you’re about as inspiring as vanilla ice cream puddled in the summer sun
a damp dishrag, america, you can’t clean up the mess you are.
Your subjects, or should I say, Objects--
your agency bereft gdp drones--
they hanker, they brood
like a syst; they’re ****** vacuoles: private, malignant, caverns of capital
your pride? starving children, dying cities?
it’s a grand ole’ flag, you pathetic ****.
How about considering this:
The people, inside your prisons?
They’re free.
The people outside?
minions, hackneyed excuse for existence, and pestilence.
the ones who know oppression are free, and the ones oppressing do not know.
that’s why I love you, America.
You are what humanity needs; a slow, painful drain on our existence.
Consciousness slowly being ignited and swallowed, only to be ******* out and flushed away.
You, america, are a popcorn bag popping in the microwave, left on for too long.
You can’t expand any further, and you taste like cancer.
America, you are beautiful, and the death you bring tastes like lime flavored popsicles
that we lick to take away the taste of reality.
Your society is a cattle car, for the mind, and your messages burn the body
when it gets there.

One of my good friends had an operation to remove a syst on her ovaries !!
I just text her bro and asked how she was doing since that's one of my biggest worries !!

He said she's fine in recovery....
What a relief !!!
Hpoe there wasn't any cancer to be found *** they said it wouldn't be known until the syst is out !!!

I'm just glad that she is okay !!!!
Just glad it's over and now she can start to heal right away!!!

She says, 'stay calm' as
she wraps a strap around
my upper arm, the strap attached to
a sphygmomanometer which measures
blood and puts me under pressure.

I'd like to meet a meter that never tried to
cheat her of a minute from a busy day,
a sphygmomanometer is just another way
of tripping up my tongue and syst or diastolics
are another load of bollix
that the meter tries to charge me for.

Results drip out like lemon curds,
tired, tired
lazy words,
numbers slumber on the dial and
in a while
I sleep too.