Full Title: The American Dream - The Postwar Years

This is srs beat poem.

Actually, assignment in US History from our oh-so-knowledgeable teacher. Write a beat poem about the American dream. Since she doesn't know what beat is, I wrote this. 10 minute scribblewrite.

[srs edit. srsly srs. I have to read this for Living History Day. W.T.F.]

Ok, srs edit #2 redux. I left some lines in there accidentally, and decided to cut another phrase or three out. This'll be the last for awhile, I promise.

Okay, I lied and completely redrew most of this for the Lake Eden Arts Festival Youth Slam 2007. The old version is here, the new one is uptop. Tell me which you prefer.

Your TV dinners are eating you.

That's right, in capitalist America,
your TV dinners are eating you
as the newscasters gleefully observe.
Driven by your cars and in debt to your dollars
you are chained to your mortgage--
you are docile prisoners in cells
shaped like classy three-bedrooms
in the suburbs.

The might of the American dream
the light of the American dream
glares on each front porch--
an electric lamp attracting
fireflies moths small insects
of all shapes colors religions and creeds
mindlessly slam themselves over
and over and over into an equal-opportunity beacon
of truth-- stay aloof
and preach the truth, the creed and the gospel
gathered by the radio antenna on your roof:
the Ford Falcon in your driveway
is your evangelist-- Yea, and God said to
Abraham "You will keep up with the Jones's".

The light of the American dream isn't a light at all;
no shining lantern, no glaring beam
the american dream is a business scheme
a human-consuming consumption machine
ripping your lives apart at the seams
for the sake of appearance--
never seem unseemly lest you be deemed
unworthy.

30 years of your soul for a gold watch
so you can tell--
the time of your life is slipping by.
try as you might, your liberty escapes;
you march to the day that you die.

Listen to the rhyme, America-- listen to the corporate hypnosis the abominable comglomerate mesmerization and obey obey obey work buy eat sleep obey consume destroy work buy eat sleep obey consume destroy work buy eat sleep obey consume destroy destroy obey obey consume consume until there's nothing left of you nothing left but a husk-- a shell made from wedding bands paper advertisments having been incinerated from the inside like the butt of a human cigarette by a denial that twists glows simmers and sparks like irony like city-subsidized fireworks on Independence Day.


Good morning, America.
or
Good night and good luck.
Just go back to sleep.
You are dead, America.

This is prophesy, signing off.