THIS POEM IS NOT AMERICA
We run a thriving leper colony outside the gates of Reno.
Inmate of renown, popular as hot Gazpacho
the Southwest light is fading as the evening flock returns.
We sought shelter after the cavalry arrived
10,000 huddled underneath a burning banana leaf
as the crowd cultivated an appreciation for all the lower notes.
Say it is war you crave, so be it.
Blood thickens in the veins like Baltic amber,
you’d be surprised what you grow used to.
No time for tear filled versions of goodbye
strike up the band, wipe out the noise.
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