america (part 1)

by Derek Smith

hammers and nails and skin stretched for miles
highways don't gasp anymore
and fourteen dollars doesn't go very far,
just sunflower seeds and the lesser things.
 
the first pitch slowed down
and replayed again and again.
ball returns to hand eventually,
unraveled by it's future and future glory.
 
i think about about america sometimes when i don't like myself very much.
 
made of donuts
inadmissible regrets
soaring chrome
oprah
falling emperors
who have fallen in reverse.
 
if reverse fell to origin embryo,
life might feel a little more fair.
 
back and forth;
now an egg, now scrambled.
sometimes a burn victim,
sometimes in flames.
no room for even a moment.
 
the future projects backwards,
fate is post determined.
the train goes both ways at the same time
depending on how you watch it;
filthy party tricks and no one notices,
as i turn
from the obscene
to the obscure.