Feed Us

we buy our collard greens on credit cards
generation deargodpleasehelpus
our beams of light have been dimmed
we can not afford them

our visions are now tunneled
through aluminum tabs of dollar ninety five cent
twenty four ounce cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon

we are fat on American apple pie
thanksgiving leftovers hoarded
in crevices and energy efficient deep freezers

we are drunk on vocabulary meant to oppress us
repeating dreams, dreams, dreams
repeating our dreams to homeless high sad souls on the street

we ask for seconds, our portions, American
our pockets, Indonesian

we buy in bulk
we buy organic
our paper bags are partly recycled materials

masses of young fat
stoned and complaining
we are angry
please Internetgod, Mediagod,
America,
feed us.

with cats or dogs

we all have our definitions,
pronunciations, alliterations,
of perfection

what mine essentially boils down to,
when you black out faces in photographs,
is alone, alone, alone.

Proof

This morning,
while driving to the airport,
I imagined, for just a second,
the semi
crashing into me.

I thought of my mother
while a white dove flew above the interstate.
This is the truth and I wonder why.

I have so many things to say and I do not know how to say them anymore.

I watched a building burning,
and I, too, burned.
I watched two cars collide,
and I felt myself colliding
with this city that is not mine.

What can I say, but the truth,
that I am medium?

What can I say, but the truth,
the drunk man from New Iberia who wouldn't put his shirt back on died right there on Bourbon Street.

I'm searching the dictionary,
trying to define "Okay"
but we all have our ideas.

Here is the proof,
I thought I was

and you didn't.