American

not a black day at all
but a red one
seeing through
my eyelids
as if into the sun
the hot wind in my bad hair
my fat over my belt
and every ignoble moment
of this filthy life
is a swollen sty burning
I’m keeping my eyes tight shut
and I see everything

God is the heavy ray on me
snake men the peeling skin
rat women the weeping blisters
I am burning as is the outside
and all I want to do is run
into the last wheatfield left in the world
and make famine complete
utterly perfect as it ends everything

hope is for the idiot
I have one idiotic hope
when all is ash
maybe something will crawl out
look around 
say

I can work with this