Bumper Sticker

Careening over the highway in my lightweight Japanese Death Star buffeted by the great and powerful winds icy winds of winter warming cold air with hot air under it accordion pleats of natural disaster my disaster in the past if you were to say to me or to rage at me in a poem about America I would charge you a great failure to even use the word. It is banality this land is suffering because poets— their great cohort— I look twice to save lives.