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“Puking Mess”

Against the odds, the stream rolling
downhill, beer ads getting top honors
and accolades played between tackles
and crotch-grabs—this is America.

Superbowl, super-old, this fight for money
leaving so many on the ground unable
to get up

I digress un-dressed dreaming of a more
enlightened world. The puppy and the
pony, soft songs and snowy scenes of peace
selling us alcohol to drink.

Take off with rocket’s first fuel, C2H5OH
Ethyl no friend of Lucy, divorcing many
Rickies, burning cells faster and faster until
loopy we take the wheel and turn our car
into a Slurpee—this is America.

Nine out of ten swirling out control, with
power to stop but no willingness, though.

We like the tackle and pop, the risk and reward,
the coming back from war with a limp and a
promise, paychecks for life, it seems to be all
about “mine.”

What happened to Longfellow’s Hero in the
Strife? What ads don’t show you is the puking
mess, the flip side of parties crystal and gold,
snowy scenes of growing old, kicking back
deserving of peace, so drink alcohol, burn
more cells, Devil’s pride swells, this is the end
of America.

Turn around, go against flow, dream a better
bigger dream without money attached, choosing
subsistence over accumulation.

Dream and do more, kick feet up after the work
is done, water the only drink powerful enough
to cool the flames of achievement.

Today great, tomorrow with hope, I feel
pretty good, I eat and drink things that help
my body. My attitude is positive, nothing gets
me down, I read the old volumes, try the old
ethics, I turn the other cheek, forgive.

Nothing useless is or low, each thing as
Longfellow also said in its place is best, and
what seems but idle show is a Budweiser
commercial, because it is.

Flow, Flow, Flow—against flow.

America rises again, everyday a chance to ignore
the hottest thing in favor of the best,
search your heart, ask it what it wants, and
travel there being wary of sports and drinks
that often lead to bonked heads and
puking mess

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