American Dreams

When they wrapped their arms in peace
Around my body,
Then tiny;
And wars lasted as honest affairs
Outside of the home,
I think I was the dream.

When they shattered my body in hate,
Red kitchen floor,
I crawled;
And love vanished like Windex stains,
Inside of the home,
I was still their dream.

When they shun the songs and poetry,
And deem me a liar,
I cry;
And silence persisted like armies of then,
Circling home vulture style,
Tearing and my dreams;
No shred of taste.

If politics and sanity marry into
That fine bird,
Then poetry and fire-fed war
Will forever be its carcass.

When the beer stains the wounds,
We will be cast out.
When my poet was martyred,
I was cast aside.