that was the day we discovered
the american dream
in bleeding baskets and wild laughter and chickweed,
tattooed it on ourselves
and repeated it again and again
in hysterical undertones,
falsettos,
growls, howls, and hurrahs
rolled it around in our mouths until it fermented and took pictures
with santa claus
in your mothers's garden for posterity's sake
up late and f***ed up
up early laughing
throwing things in a blender and telling
stories of how we lost those parts of ourselves
that seem now like
only stories
and we will not grow up
and we will not get married
and we will not have houses
and we will not bear children
and we will not be successful
and we will not make money
and we will not be right
and we will not belong
and we will sit on your kitchen floor dizzy giddy with youth
quoting the twitchy cultures of wildmen before us
happily absorbing the smoky white sunlight
not willing to do
the growing up it would take
to sober up
or even lose the dream.