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This is my American Spirit Though I am loathe, but deserved to hear it This is my generation in a long, sour drag: Bohemes and hipsters, the self-important type Self-serving directness with subtle insouciance Self-righteous without e’er scents of conviction Qualities, to all, vogue slimming befit This, this is my American Spirit. I’ll be the equalizer in a furtive game of chess And acquaintance, its partner, arbitrating I’ll wear the habit of means and humility An ashen cherry, flicked, waiting to be The pyrrhic finite ember and pastiche memory Escape is apparent in discontinuity, my Means to ravel a courser bond in someone, As only a blush reminder only when they all clear it Yes, this is my, my American Spirit. We’ll have a game of butting desires ‘Tween all those appetites and some self-respect Only, I know, to lose out in the end. Is there a place for dignity to prevail Or charm in an attempt likely to fail? Can there be eyes open, minds or thought To gentle pride its combatant ‘gainst Unconscious abuses: yea or not? But I will know irony as means to an end Turned cheek from machination That I can do, I can pretend When the veil may be lifted—that I fear it This, this is my American Spirit. Of course I enable, for the cynosure, the dissonances Supplant for fraternity fraternal-ligature Too obvious is resolve ‘neath shaw of fleeting smoke My own wants impeded, kept at a distance. For, oh, Fortune! How you have written Some conscience to mend it to others kept calm A charity in practice as this cigarette is long While vice, in all aspects, is the most correct wrong But hummed out in truth as a fascist, he ought I’ll turn to a tonic of strength to delude That pretense and pride the conscience denude. In some be it strong in others enthralled Whilst ********* our prayer beads of looking-glass selves Quietly burning the vestigial gods That brought us a new light or perspective on things And though we are loathe, we despise to hear it, This, this is our American Spirit.
0
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:50 PM UTC
jp-goss
American Spirit
This is my American Spirit Though I am loathe, but deserved to hear it This is my generation in a long, sour drag: Bohemes and hipsters, the self-important type Self-serving directness with subtle insouciance Self-righteous without e’er scents of conviction Qualities, to all, vogue slimming befit This, this is my American Spirit. I’ll be the equalizer in a furtive game of chess And acquaintance, its partner, arbitrating I’ll wear the habit of means and humility An ashen cherry, flicked, waiting to be The pyrrhic finite ember and pastiche memory Escape is apparent in discontinuity, my Means to ravel a courser bond in someone, As only a blush reminder only when they all clear it Yes, this is my, my American Spirit. We’ll have a game of butting desires ‘Tween all those appetites and some self-respect Only, I know, to lose out in the end. Is there a place for dignity to prevail Or charm in an attempt likely to fail? Can there be eyes open, minds or thought To gentle pride its combatant ‘gainst Unconscious abuses: yea or not? But I will know irony as means to an end Turned cheek from machination That I can do, I can pretend When the veil may be lifted—that I fear it This, this is my American Spirit. Of course I enable, for the cynosure, the dissonances Supplant for fraternity fraternal-ligature Too obvious is resolve ‘neath shaw of fleeting smoke My own wants impeded, kept at a distance. For, oh, Fortune! How you have written Some conscience to mend it to others kept calm A charity in practice as this cigarette is long While vice, in all aspects, is the most correct wrong But hummed out in truth as a fascist, he ought I’ll turn to a tonic of strength to delude That pretense and pride the conscience denude. In some be it strong in others enthralled Whilst ********* our prayer beads of looking-glass selves Quietly burning the vestigial gods That brought us a new light or perspective on things And though we are loathe, we despise to hear it, This, this is our American Spirit.
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47
They say that you are the lung of the world An umbrella for the street light. I know you can, and this I trust Turn my bad habit into something of use Unlike dear reflection, contemplation under The stars. At the concourse of many lives, How much spite you must have caught, I ‘hale a generation’s lot Could I ask cleanliness that follows me Into silence? Surely in the summer of its Passionate body— Surer towards its autumn.
0
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 11:49 PM UTC
jp-goss
Smoking Tree
They say that you are the lung of the world An umbrella for the street light. I know you can, and this I trust Turn my bad habit into something of use Unlike dear reflection, contemplation under The stars. At the concourse of many lives, How much spite you must have caught, I ‘hale a generation’s lot Could I ask cleanliness that follows me Into silence? Surely in the summer of its Passionate body— Surer towards its autumn.
Continue reading...
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