nod at me nod at the rooftop do it nod
acknowledge the bathtub on the penthouse garden where i am with my friends taking photos in cowboy boots
and
slips in monochromatic feels
we are 22
we are new york
and
we are living like western gods so
conceited
taking photos in red cowboy boots on the fourth of july like real americans not millennials
and i nod that barbaric yawp
biting at raw U.S. air
at the marks seen through fake silk a material that lost its name scaling the stairs to the rooftop and i found mine in people who know that photos should be zoomed at angles and only in high waisted white underwear on firescapes if not rooftops
where people don’t nod even if you nod please nod please validate our bathtub party
on the fourth of american july and nod
come in and join us
red white and blue bubble bath drowns out balcony noise of
the spice girls on top of this patio looking like nineties does seventies wrong in the south
why aren’t you nodding
at whisky stained flags marking this territory as the girls
join our cult instead
where we fear the laundromat so all our scarves remain signals in the wind yelling
we are poor! we are poor millennials!
the sun she agrees with us wiping the shadows of laundry away her smoldering beams
the natural world is all on our side and yet
you glare on
why look down why look down at that goddamn paper clip you don’t even know if its silver or gold you can look at me clearly im golden were glowing like goddamn aphrodite in spurs
gold spurs spurring dirty old bathtub water we dump off the roof onto people who won’t nod
but even they nod at you look at you why aren’t you nodding
you step over the paper clip into reality into manhattan where bathtubs are indoors and life is all silver not gold
happy fourth of july this is america where no one no gods just millennials
nod transcendentalist yawps in the sky
it’s the young who know it’s still a paperclip
silver new york at most
why aren’t you nodding america
this is our country
bow down to your gods