The Song in the American Soul

by Jerry Ratch

They are riding through the wild onion of life

One layer at a time

Turning the world inside out

Looking for the unusual patterns

Inside the gaping muscle of space

With its heart-pounding unnatural heat


You can hear them

Leaping through their own flames

To the hot feathery points of the stars 

Always in heat

Like emotional pigeons


Flowers of the world should react

Sympathy should untangle its web

And get free

It's the spirit disappearing into clouds of laughter

These are their only bad habits

This is why I love them