untitled [“no / we have no bodies here”]

nowe have no bodies herein the heart of a sunken america nonot the america myoma and opa myterrible fathermoved tothe americaopa likely would havebeen happy to die forhad he beenof conscription ageand nototherwise unkillable nonot one of my bloodsoaks downwards into thebankrupt earthso many others drenchflowering through denudedbroken copyright soil nothe promises of americawhen they all came were,in 1967, more of a punchlinewhen free love and jingoismslowed both toa patheticlistless crawlnot for lack of eitherbut instead suchan overabundancean embarrassmentof oils on the canvasmixed to an impossible murkwe are unable to clearwith spirits, and too thickto dry to gesso againand start new noperhaps americaought to becomewhat it has alwaysbeen meant for:sculptures of earthand blood and bonesand rot so thick with valorflowers die upon bloomingso many colors andno family plot

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Paasha Motamedi · paasha.motamedi@gmail.com