American Sidestep (The Things We Did Not Become)

I feel close to something different.
The ribbons have left my eyes
And fatigue is a new blanket left open to inspiration.
Am I not spiraling?
No, thank heavens no.
Where the watermelon blasts come like rain
And the candles manufacture the daylight
Is now A land I will call habitable .

There are no new crops, the harvest fails,
My children will have nuclear small pox
And yet I can rest; sleep soundly at night.
I no longer cook in the boiling turmoil
Of speculative intellectualist farces.
All things are free, Israelites and the slaves,
From Egypt to America, all things are free
And I can rest, I can rest,
And know what I do is good, towards an end -
Not the sad snake moan of a broken Bible
Or broken families, dreams, trees, or earth

For so long I have been bankrupt,
Stranded in the viscid muck of a vapid ocean,
Trash among the seas,
But now I feel contentiously good,
Like a solemn prayer flying higher
Than it thought it could
And still rising.

The joy bells ring from cumulus clouds someday,
The sun shines luminous to grandstanding greedy dreams,
And sleep is its own reward, pure sleep, rest,
In the wake of a day too fast gone bye, sleep,
The ellipsis of living, sleep comes justly.

Remorse and trumpets arouse all spectrum of feeling
While I am you, American side step,
Going introverted and knowing the road.
Call off my landlord and make me a rich man,
Or send me to Haiti to atone my life through labor,
My life could be better but so it goes.

All the rudolph stories could be fated speeches
Prone to the all powerful propaganda machine religion,
Thrown to the underbelly of the Cosmic Atom
In search of truth where none exists.
To the black holes I have not become, I raise my glass.
Everyone is undertakers but that doesn't mean I must be too.
And so the cash drips out of my bank
Like a leakng faucet in a day dream
And the piles of mud and fog prophesy
That I shall be down and out again soon,
But for now there is soda, for now there is cake,
Some vast indifference is on the wane,
A family reunion is around the bend,
With cannon fire and love to amount to,
And so shall it be forever with these beat days (which are all days)
And so shall it be that I must not be undertakers.

Christendom is coming, but not too fast,
So we can ignore it all righteously
And hope to get caught in the fountain of youth
But never be found in the whirlpool of youth
Which has drowned so many unsuspecting souls.
Ah, for we do everything to try to participate
And make participants in history
And we look for the right side to land on.
Never fear my future babies,
You'll have your place too.
We'll all muddle through the sciences and seasons
Till bells jingle for you, as they jingle now for me,
From the all the clouds and space
And the things we did not become.