Status Updates From The Birth of All Things

“America cracked open another beer as a tear ran down his face, he said, ‘I was born in a house not my own. And my fathers demanded that their portraits hang on every wall. White paint covers each brown brick in our backyard as a museum of unmarked graves.’”

“The America I know could use a good cry. I met America at a neighborhood bar. He offered me a shot of rum, and I reminded him that Captain Morgan was a slave owner. So the bartender awkwardly slipped another liquid lie down my throat.”

Damn, the poem about - The United States of Anxiety. The United States of Assumptions. The United States of Aggression.

The accuracy.

“The birth of all things… Mortality as reality.”

4/5 stars
Poetry; local

Savoring this gem by reading a few poems each day.