Classic Poem

Uh say can you see . . .
Uh beautiful for spacious . . .
Oh America machinery
that never works perfectly

American meat money machine each machine
something else each machine different
as each rose or dollar is another thing

All looms & rudders bind up
as the grey goose broke the hog's teeth out
broke the saw's teeth out
story Hawthorne mentioned
sung by Leadbelly
of hog & saw the teeth broken

Gre't day in th' mornin'! Balls o' far!

Each machine language operates idiosyncratically imperfectly
whereof is developed the beauty & the flower-poetry

Imagine each machine
singing its song
particular peculiar
Looms & radars hum or sing aloud
Eliot & Leadbelly mumbling

Machined birds
con el sexo atravesado
por una aguja
penis needled for the meat-mother
& money mad machine

the beauty of the mint
& glory of the mint museum

Uh American man can

& I—

My body is the landscape & the song

incorporating

My fantastic interstate highways leaping like salmon upward to New York holy city shot like shuttles across the dancing warp
& narrow no-count farm-to-market roads with not even a white line down the middle

The loom graph is laid down in the two dimensions

I am the dance of the graph across the loom warp

ch'êng! chng——chng!

The dance is a song with words & the words are dirt & the body
money

Explicit metaphors are unnecessary

I incorporate gullies full of rusting beer cans both the poptop & those requiring a church-key thrown at night from fast happy bloodmobiles

In the wild old days we drank quarts of Bud & pissed on tombstones in a cemetery near a country church I have always rather regretted that
O quarts of Pabst or Blatz or Schlitz or in a pinch Primo of Hawaii or Atlantic of Carolina the cheapest beer
& pissed my whole name on a dirt road someplace

Hendecasyllabic anacolutha are not worth the sweating

Screw terza rima
Screw terza rima
Screw terza rima
Hand me my random-lead cam