When the dead think of America
they lose their stench.
Oh scentless skeletons,
when my love thinks of America,
does she have new arms,
flexible as stems? Flowers. Ugh.
When flowers think of America
they get performance anxiety.
When Paul Simon thinks of America
he slips a matchstick into his mouth,
stares out over Central Park, and sees
an acoustic sex act.
When Tony Soprano thinks of America
he hears the dread quack quack.
When my soul thinks of America
it becomes Dan Dierdorf broadcasting a fever dream.
When handguns think of America
they sing the number song.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, when Lincoln thinks of America
does he turn to verse?
Probably not. He probably walks the root
system of an oak, silvering up the leaves
like a typewriter thinking of America
that taps ampersands in a line
off the margin and into infinity,
which is always to your right,
where someone
more beautiful than you should be,
looking you in the eye but thinking of herons.
