donderdag, augustus 26, 2004

When God Made America

She gave her horns to bleet the blues,
she gave her breasts on each coast
she gave her a cock out of Maine
and a tail that prayed to Mexico.

She gave her colour, to even out
the plains, the same way
she distinctly chose the vein
to shoot the highway down.

She gave her history on blank pages
and crayon people outside the lines
to create decades
that settle sentences like punctuation.

She gave cock to doodle-do
and asked nothing in return,
spurned the advances
of lesser lovers
for just a chance,
over and over again.

She sang hosannas, tinkled
the keys, jitterbugged and
flailed her legs, all in the episode
for you and me.

She brought us together, one
atop another, or juxtaposed,
one supposes, just for us
to have the chance to be indifferent.

She dug her fingers in her hair
and made the window panes rattle and peel.
And then
she stopped, and breathed.

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