Amerika

The countrysides on fire
the sea is thick with salty glory
and swells with pride,
every person is hitchhiking
everyone needs a ride.
On the sides buildings lick the clouds
stuck in the middle mountains are long
surrounded by flats
the opinions are loud,
no one owns cats.
Dogs work for dinner
and deer are never winners
living on seasonal cycles
while the air gets thinner.
Cities glow with violent light
giving the heavens above
the gift of sight.
Angels and demi-gods fight
for majority vote
like little kids with cards in their bicycle spokes
Pretending to have singular, universal dreams
laced with prejudice and motives unseen.
Slicing trees predicts the future
while secretly planning exploits
of crusade-esque blights
running like roaches when you turn on the lights.
A border of twisted vines
skeletons and sands of time,
vast indifference no longer a sin,
Keeping people out?
Or locking us in?
Modern whiskey, the beverage of gladiators ,
rogues and gunslingers of old
like most of us
it won't do what it's told.
More than sailors rule the ports;
Not fishermen of a sorrid sort.
Artisans, craftsmen and visionaries
design their own resorts
getaways turned into towns.
The king must eventually turn in the crown,
while another promises to turn things around.
We watch for four years as the
apples turn moldy and brown;
but the farmers raise honest crops
to testify when the dirt is on trial,
maybe we all just need to stop and think
every once in a while.