American Folklore

comfortable in our living

rooms, on our sofas

with our coffee tables

in our houses

and our condos

and our apartments

and our dorm rooms

with our beer bottles

and our wine glasses

and our pain pills

and our anti-anxiety pills

and our anti-depressants

and our bongs

and our bowls

and our joints

and our pipes

and our lines

and our needles

and our i-phones

and our remote controls

and our laptops

and our Thai food

and our Indian food

and our Mexican food

and our sushi

and our pizzas

and our burgers

and our fries

and our pies

and our binge-watching Netflix

and our football games

and our basketball games

and our baseball games

and our soccer games

and our NASCAR races

and our tennis matches

and our golf matches

and our YouTube

and our Facebook

and our Instagram

and our Twitter

and our Snapchat

and our Amazon

and our wives

and our husbands

and our children

and our parents

and our friends

and our jobs

and our coworkers

and our bosses

and our yoga

and our meditation

and our surfing

and our paddle boarding

and our gyms

and our weightlifting

and our Crossfits

and our mud-runs

and our marathons

and our triathlons

and our houses of cards

and our games of thrones

and mountain bikes

and our dirt bikes

and our pick-up games

and our pick-up trucks

and our sports cars

and our dive bars

and our micro-brews

and our Whole Foods

and our Co-ops

and our concerts

and our parties

and our dinners

and our banquets

and our gasoline

and our oil

and our fracking

and our taxes

and our stocks

and our bonds

and our savings

and our debt

and our credit

and our wins

and our losses

and we are lost,

and alone

and afraid of shadows

with nowhere to go

and we could cut off our fingers

and forget our toes

and still count the friends

we can really count on

in a pinch

and we are chained to an idea

and we live in fear

and we were told to go shopping

and that revenge is the answer

and we’ll walk all night to cure cancer

but bat no eyes

as we kill millions

and pretend that we’ll win

and pretend that it is a contest

and pretend it’s not conquest

and we watch the seconds tic

and tock

and the clock strikes twelve

and it’s September Twelfth

and the flags rise again

in the morning

and the bombs still fall

on the mourning

and we need to stay numb

to silence the drums of war

and silence the cries of the poor

and to believe American folklore

 

 

 

 

 

About soitgoes1984

I was born and raised on land stolen from the Pocumtuc. I now live on a small island in the middle of the Pacific ocean, on land that was stolen more recently, from the Hawaiians. I am addict, struggling to kick the habit of fossil fuel.
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