by Ivy Lockhart
Who can save america?
Wiley peyote cowboy of my fevers and my sugar highs!
Sexy and brooding,
Conquering, cattle herding
to the reaches of the sunny land
Wanderlust! Wander less. Rootless!
Never finding that roadside diner and diet soda
and pretty waitress and farmers daughter
and chieftains daughter and brothel mother.
Lonesome! Oh so very lonesome!
Lone wolves on such pure and virginal land
Evolve with us! Rats of the fake philosophizing,
bourgeoisifying, mystical herd.
Don’t get left behind.
Oh cowboy! Save us from ourselves!
Save us from sin and bank tellers,
the drink and the darkness of night.
Gold rush, maidens’ cheeks flush
with you! Power rush!
Oh trusty steed! Oh reliable tale!
Bareback tissue treads thin.
I love you america!
america you cowboy! You wonderful thing!
You bucking and brazen,
you fucking and razed,
You owning and wielding.
I love you, america, I love you!
Your flask, your rifle—you playing the hero!
It’s all for you?
Every last scrap
of corn?
and hair?
and sugar?
Every last scrap!
Future Histories 