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The America That Means Something I write this toyou America: with all your colors. your reds whites and blues. you and your literature spread to countries half of us can't find on maps with directions written like stereo instructions scrawled in a doctors penmanship telling us who gives a shit! I write this to America: whose children sing of courage and freedom every morning at 7:15 a.m. religiously. they are marched down hall after hall searching for flags w/stars and stripes and familiar colors -- or else! I write this to my America: For whom I've never heard a bell toll --but have heard horns honking radios blared and children screaming for. But America I have seen things for you on my journeys home on public transportation reading signs on roadsides out of tinted Plexiglas paranoid that it will rain rocks and Plexiglas well prove itself. I have heard mothers crying around their children lying dead from stray bullets lingering like fragrance in the streets and have read your name on every beer bottle busted and on every neo light on Baltimore St. I have heard whores say your name during pillow talk and after sex talk they knew your name but not mine --your name must mean something! |
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