drones

The amerikan poem reads
like a nursery rhyme or perhaps
the disjointed inner monologue
of a middle-schooler. Half-baked and dated
musings shellac’d into brand-new revelations—
what else to expect from a nation raised
on conservative christianity and the lies of capitalist “innovation.”
The amerikan poem cannot help but fall into
a commodity form; lit mags line
their tables of contents with zeigeist-approved flavors-of-the-month;
which demographic has
the most profitable trauma this quarter?
Whose are the features
most likely to clear the optics bar?
Readers could not search an author’s name on
their portable personal computer in 2005.
The amerikan poem must,
of course, be always patriotic, even
and especially in its critiques of amerikkka.
No one becomes a verified writer without passing
the propaganda course. As the amerikan religion
subsumes the rest, so does the amerikan idea(l)
enmesh with the walls of the mental womb,
ensuring the reproduction of only itself; albeit,
in obfuscating guises, so that even the thinker
believes themself pure. Temporally speaking,
amerikan poetry occupies the ahistory of delusion,
a space wherein events of global significance
simply do not occur, so instantly
are they demarcated as irrelevant
or false. Watch now
as confident language turns ashen
in the mouths of the clerics,
seared by the light of true memory. Who cares
about any of this stupid shit—
no nation but that of beasts, no law
above that supreme indomitable—
bone dust scattered across the ungendered soil