Surprise, it's me it's you
it's today and just like those yester
days, we are the same. Our rages
against the permanent imperfect
bring us to froth and we will not
be put down. Our dogs bark fight
and put other dogs in that fight.
Fight! O America, you like your
self more than the mirror. The
overheated microwave walked
to the post office; wait, that was
actually somewhere else. Drove.
Drive! Drive! Drive, America,
drive the dollar down deep
into the hearts of ten billion
and you'll call them men
and then you'll be sorry,
we. It's us! Surprise. Our ironies
are the rusted buckle on Orion's belt.
Our stars are us. We are nearly them.
Want! Want harder, America! If you
want it hard enough, your life will
be made manifest by destinations,
for if O America, if your boots will
take it, strap up and pull. Deny! Oh
denial, you lovely aisle. I want and
want to can't-have. Leave the things
out that I won't have. Ready's not here
we come. Lose the thread with
me, America. There is a hero
out there, and it's you it's me it's
every sacred profanity on every
auto-sacrum. I love you too,
America, and I say it
because I don't.
Roman Ryan 