I Dreamed America

The names for
everything
from the static to
all else.
Acronyms for us
and a
sweating mound of meat.
Zealous
in all
when it hurts
when it doesn’t matter
when the dam breaks
especially.
Static fizzes to
each lonely sea
that fights
to hold
a withered,
white hand
over the striped red
rock
under flapping
stars.
Brooch pins
bounce on canvas that
throbs and
throbs
when each person falls.
These sugared treats
are all I dreamt of
with
sucked thumb
and discoloured pacifier.
My states
oscillate
back to
exhausted
when I soar over
landlocked dust.
The beauty and the
rage is
all-important
in a sensational
microcosm of wonder.