You keep your history guarded to
the east,
Hermetically sealed,
bulletproofed. You
Sing star spangled when the house
lights go
Down & the pyrotechnics
begin. Your fists
Are clenched to the south,
holding on tight
To the air in your pockets,
trying not to ex-
Plode. You look north at night
& can’t put
Your New American finger on the
lode star
But trust you are going the right
direction.
You travel west toward the Comstock,
jack-
Pots, the salt flats of land
speed records &
Nuclear testing sites where
inside the blast
Radii no living thing will grow
for a million
Years & the desert blown to
glass, leaving
You a million miles w/out any
place to hide.
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