Thursday, March 5, 2015

An Erotic Love Letter to the American Way of Life

This poem-letter is a first experiment courtesy of a joke gone wrong.
A friend and I thought a writing-sharing group was cancelled, so we- in jest- sent a message of our support for sharing "Blasons to our feminism".
Our jest was interpreted as a promise and we stumbled into the realm of being 'writers'.
It was Valentine's Day, and the readings were supposed to be loosely based on themes of romance-
Any comments, suggestions, edits, trolling in general, etc are welcome, because why the heck not-
It's America, y'all.
Recording is here for funsies:

video





Dear America,
 I remember when I saw you for the very first time: the mighty dollar bulging in the pocket of your
brand-spanking new
but already distressed
nearly undressed
denim shorts-sold derivatives.
I imagined gently firm caresses from the sound of your caramel- ketchup
Midwestern standard McVoice on the smart phone of my soul-selling me copies of  Cosmopolitan ® , Ladies Home Journal®, Hustler®,
and Cat Fancy® . 
I was fancying the part between your scarlet-lettered
Lips
Revealing the pearly whites that perfectly matched the
Pearl Necklace
strung about your
Hips.
I shuddered at the forked tongue of your culinary-industrial complex
as it lexically licked the spines of banned books that burned hot with your
SEXual Redactions
Democractic INactions
and
Capitalist CONTRACTions.
Today, I remember how your hallowed halls gave me chills the first time we made
Love, Inc.
Incorporated into our fantasies of slick imperial patent pleather
with acid-rain patina- ed tethers
that you purchased with the gifts of your
best friends
trying to make amends
predicting trends
in stock dividends.
I felt such antici. . . pation-as you lashed my hands to the bedposts of the
exceptionalist nation-
Oh how you ravished my landscape as I, pant-less- panted your name:
America: The Blessed ®
Self-shattering ecstasy and your self-centered
Lust
Battered my heart-shaped emoticon ass
And my American Dream©
Into dust-
And now-
Dusting off my dress of the revolution when you ask me
Again-  to push back harder
And harder-
Against your materialistic ardour
Until.
You.
Come.  –pare statistical data to ensure that the passion of our wet, hot, American Union will last until the
End.
Of .
Time.
Because baseball- and diamonds- are forever.
Love,
 Your Galentine

No comments:

Post a Comment