home of the free, home of the brave, home of the damned

America has become a nation of god crawlers
standing in row with studded dog collars
going to trial
while hating the self-help
drug style.

The recommendation proposal
has been passed to further punish those
who commit in the act of foolish sex
and those souls who are permitted to publish
all the lonesome, twisted ways that
one can be raped across the rugged landscape
of the fruited pain.

There is no music left
in this modern sewer world.
The people don’t design anything.
They just hang around and watch
improving television technology.

Nothing seems to be beautiful or ugly
during the thirty-second commercials that line
your sitcom fix.
Going back-and-forth
turning your head
becoming bald in the back with each new motion.
You take a look in the mirror and ask yourself,
“What the hell am I doing here?”