Gatlinburg

My heart collapsed in manifold direction

 

Red spurts mimicked the infection

 

That split up and spread out across the hills

 

Sat down next to me and kicked out my bills

 

Friends, homework, finals by God

 

All melted as if a cheap wax facade

 

In the face of

 

I really mean in the place of

 

Gatlinburg.

 

Did I have a right to feel such distress

 

When I had not dressed

 

Under the nose of LeConte.

 

Still there was this want

 

To help and not to dwell

 

So languidly under the spell

 

Of despair, grief, terror, anguish.

 

Rather to venture up and to vanquish

 

Deep dirt trenches upon

 

Burnt tire stenches up on

 

The Mountains.

 

In Tennessee they say

 

“I’m fair to middling today”

But on that day I couldn’t restrain

 

Smoke rising like a train

 

Burning through the deep cuts

 

Of my intentions and thrasonical struts

 

Glowing on top of dirt formations

 

Where fat tourists take uncaring vacations

 

And don’t get out of the car.

 

So without really knowing where they are

 

They stomp and romp and tread

 

What now cannot die but is dead

 

Ground.

This poem is about: 
Me
My country

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