Failed foreign policy forced my fingers to the keys

The American Corpse

Decomposing by the year:

The American corpse,

Stuck on the ground in its emissions

Flesh and bones and weeds

Desecrated by the terms:

The American corpse,

Sprawled lewdly on the earth

Deposed for its ravenous means

Rooted through by a bush:

The American corpse,

Illuminated by sexton’s lamp

Immolated by its own disease

Yet the sad red streets of the world:

The hard, enrubbled, oily streets

Streets enraged, though prayerfully

Waiting up late, on their knees

For January’s proclamation:

Hollered with unbosomed glee

Chants attend the inauguration

Ghostly elation at the scene

The wept over corpse:

The American corpse,

Composing itself, on its knees

Then standing again, like a dream