They've all spoken of you, America
from Walt Whitman
-to Allen Ginsberg,
the men who travelled your roads; Hughes and Kerouac.
the men who saw your dust (and ate it too);
Woody Guthrie and John Steinbeck.
They've all spoken of you, America.
Whether it be in disdain,
hoping for the coming of more college professors with communist beards,
hoping for the end of your big business and tyrannical reign,
hoping for your eyes to open, breathe the air of equality,
practice what you preach.
Whether they speak of you in heartfelt joy,
Praising the men who died for you.
Praising the men who fucked lady liberty and called it
America (a tiny seedling inside her egg)
finding joy and love in your vast area,
your gigantic breasts,
giving milk to us all.
Whether they spoke of the joy they found in hard work.
Hard work from the Grand Culee Dam to the great plains.
From Travels with Charlie to On the Road.
it does not matter, America.
you are what you are.
you are the child of the new world.
the right to speak against you,
cast the first stone at your undeniably beautiful face,
only a woman like you could give it to us like that,
give it to us like a professional whore,
yet be as delicate, as feminine, as virgin as you.
O America! O land of promise, land of contempt!
Whether we love you
Whether we hate you
Whether or not you ever existed.
Whether or not your bowels are filled with beauweasels,
eating your ass,
eating your fruit,
eating you love.
it does not matter America.
Because no one can deny,
you are America.
Make love to me, at least once more.
At least once more, overlooking New York.
make love to me and let me feel what you have inside.