'Murica I've walked your roads and Stared at your stars, I've bathed in your rivers, I've driven your cars. I sat by your whirlpools And ran you through my mind - I've tried to ignore Fox And all that hateful jive. 'Murica I've ridden your highways, Puzzled as you say: If you ain't from here Then you can't stay, When most of you are from Some place else - I've pulled your history from Library shelves - I hid from murderous hillbillies In your trailer parks and now I Sit crouching in your sweetest parts Wearing a Groucho disguise Whilst reading Karl Marx, Listening to the band As the sun comes up on Another fucked day. I've washed my clothes In the high desert in buckets Hand dipping down into suds While shooting the breeze With Ellie May Clampett. I've sat on a hill near Little Big Horn fields While the lightning raged And the storms did form Yet nothing wet did yield. I've begged your pardon Whilst worshipping At the Garden of Eden, Cowering in Sioux Falls Hearing your politicians Make yet another calculated call To arms dealers and bigotry hauls I collected the feathers Of passing birds And sat crying on the shores Of Cass Lake, my weeping unheard. Your chipmunks and deer Were my greatest friends: I plucked a Pennsylvanian Martin While racoons played. I caressed it's Adirondack spruce As if it were my baby I played the songs of Dylan Young, Mitchell and Reed, Then sullied it with McCartney. Murica, you spat me out Not because I was salty or sweet Or bitter or sour: There's not enough salt in the mines to sate 'Murica's savor! You spat me out into the heart Of California To sit with the poets and bums And look for a savior In the streets of dirt The streets of shame Where Chinatown melts The fat from the duck And the heads drop acid Into garbage trucks; Where the Bay sits carved A beauty from stone Where the wind and the fog Cut you right to the bone. If I close my eyes I can recover The sense of sitting by the lighthouse In an Oregon summer. I can taste the sea And smell the sand. I can look to the rock I can steady my hand. I can look out to the children I battled to save By America's promise - The land of the brave! I shed tears I earnt On your fertile ground And came up with pearls And a voice carried over The Olympic Sound - Crying to all those who fled To find safety from fear, It says: The door is shut We don't want you here. I decided to stay: I love this land By the light of it's days By the powder of it's sands By the faint smell of dusk While Coyote call By the shrieks of Lucy And Lauren Bacall By the San Fernandino nights By the Salinas haze By the slow turning of The pattern of the days. I love you by your hills And your cruel divides I love you by your embrace And your intelligent designs. By the mountains and sea And the people that I meet By the brutal humanity And the rules of the street. "Murica might not love me But I don't care I look over the water While Elliot's Mermaids Comb angel hair.
Thank you, and thank you for the recommendation for Lilith magazine. I am really enjoying reading it, there are some deeply moving and inspiring stories. My head is held up a little higher today.