America1

America I have given you all and now I am nothing.
America two dollars and twentyseven cents Jan 17, 1956.
I cant stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I dont feel good, dont bother me.
I wont write my poem until I am in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with      my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next     world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You have made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I dont think he will come back Its               sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I am trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I am doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I havent read the newspapers for months, everyday                          somebody goes on trail for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid 'm not
          sorry.
I smoke Marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in my            closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there is going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I wont say the Lords Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still havent told you what you did to Uncle Max                 after he came over from Russia.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let your emotional life be run by Time                     Magazine?
I am obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner                     candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
Its always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are                serious. Movie producers are serious. Everybodys                  serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I have been talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My natural resources consist of two joints of marijuana                    millions of genitals an unpublishable private literature
         that goes 1400 miles an hour and twenty-five-thousand
         mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of                           underprivileged who live in my flowerpots under the
         light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whore houses of France, Tangiers is the            next to go.
My ambition is to be president despite the fact I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual             as his automobiles more so they're all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down
         on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalist
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys
America when I was seven my momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickle and the speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everbody must have been a spy.