My heart collapsed in manifold direction


Red spurts mimicked the infection


That split up and spread out across the hills


Sat down next to me and kicked out my bills


Friends, homework, finals by God


All melted as if a cheap wax facade


In the face of


I really mean in the place of




Did I have a right to feel such distress


When I had not dressed


Under the nose of LeConte.


Still there was this want


To help and not to dwell


So languidly under the spell


Of despair, grief, terror, anguish.


Rather to venture up and to vanquish


Deep dirt trenches upon


Burnt tire stenches up on


The Mountains.


In Tennessee they say


“I’m fair to middling today”

But on that day I couldn’t restrain


Smoke rising like a train


Burning through the deep cuts


Of my intentions and thrasonical struts


Glowing on top of dirt formations


Where fat tourists take uncaring vacations


And don’t get out of the car.


So without really knowing where they are


They stomp and romp and tread


What now cannot die but is dead



This poem is about: 
My country


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