I believe in Americanity,
sacred religion of democracy
sung by mad troubadours of city streets
who lounge in the grass on the river shore
and ride with Death in the carriage of faith
sea to shining sea in the
The traveler who maps the signless road
across the wilderness of windy hope
lifts up their eyes to know the world is wide
with beauty of the ideal scene through hype
because they know no land is theirs to claim,
My blind mother, who walks on flowing stream,
lost her eyes when she gambled with the sun
in vain attempt to save my soul from pain,
but I can only see her now in dream
holding fabric of my being she had spun
from
Zoned out on why the girl with seven eyes
steals paper masks from museum of ghosts,
I lean against rail of the lonely bridge
and think about why the sky appears blue
as if the holy words of angels burn
visions in