someone ripped the soul from this country
ripped it out rolled it up
scarfed it down for lunch
hooters, denny’s, the world famous cinnamon bun company but
iguana won’t be blunted
he spins his eye on the roulette of account
blacker than the burned out suns
black for balance
we crowd about him snapping photos
leaning up against our jeeps
our tee shirts cry out Pura Vida
he waits he blinks he walks
amongst the bottles and the butt ends and the pepsi paper cups
the endless scurf left by our living
he sees he counts he counts he sees
then slowly climbs the last tree standing
i wish my cheeks would burn with what we’ve done
with what we do in every moment
but there isn’t any fight
i will go down with this stupid rotten ship

 

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