This America
By Michael Simanga
There is something in the coughing winds of winter and the smell of spring flowers and the roaring heat of summer and the quiet of the fall, of this America
A promised land, a space for those needing a chance a sacredness that hangs Jesus the suffering white man on a wooden cross
There is the job of certain trees to keep them warm in winter and ready for bodies to swing from their branches
There is something in the promises full of lies that shoves the hope of working people to the surface only to be drowned again in the blood overrunning their brains
There is something to be said about the centuries of women under the sacred rule of men and the constant danger that those men will attack without or with alcohol and disappointment and hatred of themselves
There is something in the constant lies of freedom and the swollen speeches of prosperity and the smiles of the richest and the lies of sharing the wealth
There is something in this America that hovers over everything, that shakes our hands and poisons the land and steals the water
There is something in the promises that is always a lie
By Michael Simanga
There is something in the coughing winds of winter and the smell of spring flowers and the roaring heat of summer and the quiet of the fall, of this America
A promised land, a space for those needing a chance a sacredness that hangs Jesus the suffering white man on a wooden cross
There is the job of certain trees to keep them warm in winter and ready for bodies to swing from their branches
There is something in the promises full of lies that shoves the hope of working people to the surface only to be drowned again in the blood overrunning their brains
There is something to be said about the centuries of women under the sacred rule of men and the constant danger that those men will attack without or with alcohol and disappointment and hatred of themselves
There is something in the constant lies of freedom and the swollen speeches of prosperity and the smiles of the richest and the lies of sharing the wealth
There is something in this America that hovers over everything, that shakes our hands and poisons the land and steals the water
There is something in the promises that is always a lie
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