A found poem; adapted from America by Allen Ginsberg
America I've given you all two dollars and twenty seven cents Human war? Go fuck yourself I can't stand your libraries full of tears I don't feel good, your machinery is too much for me. Don't bother me. I won't write my poem till I'm sick of your insane demands. I'm trying to settle this argument my obsession made me want to be a saint. When will you be angelic? I'm in my right mind. My own mind. Will you look at yourself when will you be worthy? -A December 5, 2016