they're sneering for all the wrong reasons.
there is 3000+ miles of amber waves
that go unswum as they hope
to find some distant layer of self
perhaps left behind abroad
in another time, in another life.
they're all hemingways
pissing and swimming naked
in the atlantic
while the kerouacs rinse
blistered feet in the mississippi,
in the potomac,
but there is no glory
in being a humble nomad,
culture is measured in clocked miles
and passport stamps,
eiffel tower souvenirs--
give me the yellowing grass of america,
bottle the sands of every littered shore.
my blood enriches the soil,
my heart beats beats beats
to the tune of a thousand marching feet
crossing state lines in search
of the spirited country that once was.
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