An Open Letter to America
Lina ramona Vitkauskas
Separately: Tradition F
Since ever pillow beef,
since ever Hotel Feel,
we were eating breakfast firmly.
We quest for prime things,
if bread is said. And it is bread.
I am bread. Well, eat.
As a precision dipwave returns,
an attorney in his trademark
"Jesus Loves Say" jacket joins
vehement athletics, stealing
in his mind to lead to good
situations. We all favorite
the carrot game.
What is the "general person" thinking?
Has he been healthgiving in his
surprised pants? A departure from
the new world, for in the end, we
are all fuzzy robots. The sun
will come out to blind you dream.
Expose yourself in the danger.
Live and go. Take pleasure
in the street taste. Which is strong?
Which beats you? Ridiculous!
Swarms of winter gnats are still around,
their gentle warbling and chattering
We live in watermelon hills. We are
living with the earth after all.
I Write from Your Ambla
and forgot you. Every damage I fulfilled, you
transported. Every lentil moment I thought we'd
technique and manifest! I created you orphic
island as if lucid binary skin! hesitation yet pulsing
through your chrysalis cries. And forgot you.
You: fastened the tangible/permanent OR
you and I led down our disloyal mistresses of skies?
You and I amplified rotary dialer. Can I hear your—?
Desperation. In living stations. Brevity
was your trait and I suffocated my saturated
American. Island! devoured in tame
resolution of my anthem. I'm not violent for you!
and your breath—so inclusive—dissolved my lips.
I never left you! rescreened and secret. I brave
your brevity. Connect to me! I write from your
Ambla—and my reflex in covetous flux—organza
your hands my mystic conceptual body upon body.
I'm so violent for you I'm so violent for you I would —
I would wither to be in your foreign throat
and grapple inland.