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Because You’re An American, That’s Why

Eerily guardless at this ungodly hour,

the palace seems pale and lost

as a human baby in a fake jungle.

Now bust into it and dismantle

whatever’s left of its moral clarity.

The air is pungent with gastrointestinal spices:

a proboscis meets hibiscus affair.

Of visceral hilarity the wind moans.

The faces of people are blotched and smudged

with russet asterisks and rouge skin-tags

that epidemiologists would consider

lucratively incurable.

Jackals and hyenas will flower again

in the hiatus between transitions.

Nor will sacrifice be an option.

All forms of communication

will convey a single deadpan truth:

Luxury was a mistake.

But until then there will be time enough

to party like you are on television;

to explore and exhaust your preferences

with furious abandon; to screw your neighborhoods

in all three senses of the verb: coitally, ethically

and with an actual screwdriver (ideally

to the brain or groin for grandest damage).

Declare a war on monogamy

and crash all intimate picnics

donning Viking-antlers and orgy-goggles,

all the while shrieking:

“THE SKI-MASK IS THE LIMIT”

to all who refuse to listen.

Remember: you have your orders

and we have your daughters, so move!

Connolly Ryan

Copyright 2012