Fire in My Eyes

the infant stages, all selfishness
and shit. wherein lies the details
the lyrics that ring out from FM
radios, then so prominent, now
merely convenient distraction
for when we're cussing out cars

that are not so considerate about
our own priorities as we are, as
perhaps they should be. perhaps
the duking it out is the evolution
from infancy to internet, from ears
and eyes and noses, to capital gains

but, then, we were news anchors
calling out our headlines, a slip
of the tongue, a scrape of the knee,
a squeeze of the jukebox. there I
sit, all regal in my urgencies. all
pristine in my potential. i sit,

fire in my eyes like a front porch
summer night. we were capitalists
then, commodifying love. we were
cultish in our allegiances. we were
shining in our factions, listening
to marky-mark from other peoples'

porches, pretending to be ninja turtles.
then sprang up, all preemptive and
alive, ready for the external, aloof to
the internal. growing, like leaves from
the vines of ambition and simplistic
stereotype; such a fine young man

a fine young man. and each day passed
inconsolably, as hair crowded face, and
shoes grew worn, as the pigeon call grew
routine and the hot dog stand manager
learned our name, as revolutions made us
think hard and try to remember where their

country sits, all civilly unrested, spot lights
shinning like Cair Paravel atop the cliffs of overexposure
where lies too,
america.