#atopia

— Sandra Simonds, from Atopia

I am a terrible American I am so suicidal I am a terrible suicidal American who throws herself into your desiccated bank vaults Yet I do not want America to kill me before I kill myself I can’t stand my positive acquisitions I throw them to the dogs like marrowless bones I can’t stand my drinking I’m sorry that I destroyed you by the fires of money I feel no nationalism I feel no nationalism in my heart, my hands, my brain or my pussy I myself am worse than a rogue state I feel peeled away from society I will never leave the bed I will never enter the cold winds of money I want to die in my bed with the covers over my head The books I have written for other people sicken me like plague The books I have written for so little money like a ghost tripping on the pavement I will be forced out of my enemy’s hands like ghosts in the wavy grasses America, I am the moors you lack My voice crosses you like some bleak financial awareness I crash like a bombed out calamity I am no good for anyone The vines of my thoughts are the cries of your abandoned people and animals I am the home of the birds and that’s all I will ever be Inside my heart is a boat of Noahs I am the town washed away by starvation and flooding I am the downed power lines of your literature I spark up from the pavement like the jolting of a corpse I am that corpse who jolts up and goes on a long walk America, I am the long walk of your lost wilderness

GabyArbz 

— Sandra Simonds, from Atopia

— Sandra Simonds, from Atopia

— Sandra Simonds, from Atopia