America had
it all—nice job, wife, and home.
Well, it paid the rent.
America lost
it all—nice job, wife, and home.
On the road again,
a souped-up turtle,
on wheels following bad jobs.
He’s free as a bird.
The jobs are killing
him. The loneliness too. Well,
that’s always been true.
Even when he had it
all, the job was killing him.
Never saw his wife.
All that flies free—birds,
butterflies, bees—and all that
does not fly—turtles,
America—is
dying. Having, not having,
either way, it’s gone.
dust 