Where Americans Live

You live in ruins,
You live in movies.

Feed your children poison.
You feed your children disease. 

You silence your women,
And cut down your trees.

You live in suburbs,
You skin both your knees.

You don't own, you rent,
but you're both on the lease.

You buy for satisfaction,
You fuck for release.

And if you feel uncertain,
even while he sleeps...

You know it's no Civil Iron Curtain,
he just never says please.

You live in ruins.
You live in TVs.

Porn Links - (link poem)

Suppose, supposedly, if it were up to me the porn category would read differently:

Cunniglingus

Big Dick

Huge Dick

Tiny Dick

Wide Shoulders

Big Hands

Athletic Legs

Dangling Balls

Tight Balls

High School

Middle Age

Balding

Bald

Hairy Balls

Hairy Back

Chin Straps

Sideburns

Great Beards

In Shape

The 500

Young

Enduring Stamina

Shooting Ropes

Cumming From Blowjobs (just the cumming part)

Rope Masturbation

Giant Dick Masturbation

Choads

Veins

Tattoos

Needle Dicks

Scarred

...And of course, then there'd be:    

Giant Girth Cock

Blue Eyes

Brown Eyes

Green Eyes

Hazel Eyes

Platinum Blonde

Dishwater Blonde

Brunette

Light Ginger

Dark Ginger

Freckles

Tan

Latino

White Dudes

Black

European

Greek

Irish

Scottish

British

Australian

French

Spanish

Argentinian

Wife-beaters

Cute

Sexy

Handsome

Mysterious

Cowboy

Robot

Star Trek

Captain Kirk

Captain Picard

Fathers

My Husband

Scientists

Writers

Lawyers

Firemen

Cops

Bodybuilders

Lifeguards

Man of Honor

Grey Fox

Silver Fox

White Fox

Salt-n-PepperFox

Sure my list didn’t rhyme, but still suits me fine and now it’s time to misuse bandwidth.    

ALSO READ THESE POEMS (that actually rhyme):

Ophiophagus-hannah

47%

Duality of Womb-man

This Sure Beats The Hell Out Of Algebra, Doesn't It?

Minus Zer0

47%

I know he's making CD's of all my playlists

and all 22 blog views
were his hits,
he might miss this
as much as I miss that
and he's writing on the shiny silver disk with a black Sharpie in safety orange spandex speaking Spanglish.
Wondering whatever is on my mind...  ...if they'll find me
dead,
like Norma Jean
with my brunette hair
just as bleached, beached
on a Plastic Beach,
guerrilla in the sand.

My castle is a man.

I could still wrestle with gators but,
then I couldn't hang-glide with the aviators,
and while you strum on yer guitar
trying to become what you are,
all stop-lights mediators: 
avid avatars in their cars...

...I break lamps and dance.