Across my night vision,

This America sprawls

In twinkling amazement and glut.

Fueled by the glitter of hungry neon,

The dark and spangled parabola reaches overhead

Drawn in narrow, dense perfect lines.

 

Draw black, bend your back

Grip the harp and balance the shaft.

Pierce the shadows 

Where they crawl through the grates,

the gutters,

the streets,

While the last commuter heads for the short-term lot.

 

Follow the lines. 

Ride the light to where

Small flacid lamps adorn family courts.  

Here, in simple escasty, each bright kitchen lies

Entrhoned in armor and baking soda.

Here children scan electronic games and elegant toys.

Here, expert hands are making the beds.

Here, the cross still marks the spot.

 

Below, each basement is replete

With paneling and shag.

Each life is perfect without blemish or stain.

I walk along eating this rhythym’s food. 

Chewing the country's cookie,

Munching the soil's nutty roll.

The dream is too rich, too simple

Too caloric for my soul.

 

No country too big,

No warrior too fierce,

As glory speaks the broken promise that no right man shall die,

And the plane dives under the stary night

Over the continent where we have erupted so quickly

Acre by acre it sweeps

 

A floppy beagle whimpers and climbs the road

Mauls mangle gladly pacing ahead of my call

And some heavy mother takes wing at night

Leaving Detroit for L.A. in the fall.