America
America I've given you all
and now I'm nothing
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents
January 17 1956
I can't stand my own mind
America when will we end the human war
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me
I won't write my poem
till I'm 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 withmy good looks
America after all
it's you and I
who are perfect
not the next world
Your machinery istoo much for me
You made me want to be a saint
must be some other way to settle this argument
Burroughs is in Tangiers
I don't think he'll come back
it's sinister
Are you being sinister or
is this some form of practical joke
I'm trying to come to the point
I refuse to give up my obsession
America stop pushing
I know what I'm doing
America
the plum blossoms are falling
I haven't read the newspapers for months
Everyday somebody goes on trial for murder