Still Dreaming in America

Stretching metallic arms
reaching for the star spangled sky
disbelieving my piece of the pie
is rotten well past the expiration date
so eager to taste golden nectar
hoping the effect is like a synthesized narcotic
an ecstasy powder compressed into a circular shape
in a mechanized miraculous state of mind
thump thump thump rhythm and bass
seduced by the allure of wiggling hips
popping delicious curved waists
a predatory sense for the female anatomy
coke line dreams and a pair of stunning shades
giving a darkly vision to sunken eyes
too proud to admit the exhaustion of staring
too long at drying paint and comparing it to life
so moist and rich, but drying through time
knowing one day the paint will begin to crack and peel
old man decay with a hunched back and an embarrassing cane
the buses are prepared for the sympathetic act of lowering hydraulics
decrepit legs take their steps, paying only a senior discount fee
resting their wrinkled buttocks on a comfortably mediocre seat
eyes sunken further into their abyss (just two pits in the skull)
as the glossy moisture of the dark hole pupils can only reflect
reminiscent images of a time when bliss was easier through ignorance
a time when red white and blue fruit still had time to ripe
believing in the promise that the taste would be sweet
and not a sour lie