Amending Architecture (Again)

Ah ah ah, the world is ending
and I can’t afford to find my keys again.

These insights I was taught,
in between dotting i’s and crossing t’s -
the same ones who swore
they would get me to the base of God’s golden feet -
are in fact not worth a damn anymore.

Now, these overpriced brainwaves
are only good for watching
young men and young women hauled off
these crumbling American streets
by a phone on layaway.

I’ve made amends with my
double espresso of melancholy.
My shrink said it’s better this way.
Leave the sugar out of it, they advised.

Because try as I may, in April no less,
I can’t ignore the experts flying for the door.

America, America,
are you calling for us to fight for you again?
Like you asked all those sons and daughters
within your command
in all those wars of yours before.

I don’t want to be told to love you,
I need the free will to feel it, absolutely,
as I never have before - no contract.

Lady Columbia, tell us, who are we to you now?

Miss Columbia, tell us, who are we to you now?

Columbia, tell me where you imagined

you were going all this time
ever since
the days of Harvard grads roared:

Behold, Britannia! in thy favour'd Isle;
At distance, thou, Columbia! view thy Prince,
For ancestors renowned, for virtues more.

Or did you leave us
when that statue was dropped off from France?

Was it then that America's death dance
finally died for you?

It’s all really happening.
It’s only just begun.

It’s here, the end, the end you wanted and still,
you keep pushing us down and away.

Look on the bright side, Mr. and Mrs. Unsatisfied,
now we know
you never really wanted us anyways, or at least
not like we thought you did.

And those pedantic parables of yours?

You don’t need to shout them as loud anymore.

Already out of reach,
not there at all,

it’s time to save your breath.