after Allen Ginsberg’s America
America is tired and goes home without her shoes that night.
Wiping off eyeliner with the back of her small hands, she figures
she is getting too old for this shit.
America: 1 a.m. and a dollar short.
America’s dress keeps slipping down from off her shoulders.
being catcalled from the cars of her would-be fathers,
feels her heart bursting in air and cannot take the breaths to calm down–
America forgot to take her Xanax today
and the bus stop closes in around her delicate frame
like the fist her hands can’t seem to make anymore.
Her soul has been slipping through her passive fingertips, limp wrist.
America keeps her bus pass crumpled in her bra
so that she can move mountains when she takes it out for show.
(America hates her big tits. America is ready to stop growing.)
America finds the bus…
View original post 236 more words