Popular Poems About America

A pastor Jim Schulz resides there.
The one we pass along the road
whose lettered sign deplores
excuse for sin, and extols grace.

My bland and musty Anglia faith
askance observes this Pentecostal wrath,
the churches like warehouses of the soul,
the Wal-Mart for your Christ-shaped whole.

We see five churches on one block,
some pillared and tall, and some very small,
and one a single office stuck between
a van rental and nail bar, it seems.

Religion’s as common as commerce out here,
competing with...

I asked God if the American empire was murdered by an enemy.

He said, without a single tear in his all seeing eyes.

" America died by suicide not murder."

No further explanation was required.