Trademark fits,
memories of a former sooth
resting on the tranquil wall.
Watched swoon in
tension of an
American past.
Stanza and colorful report
of what ends its relevance
in the stakes
of bursted bubbles.
No golden age,
all millions lost
so in crop
and trapped.
Trapped and rooted and
pumped in band
and another word needlessly twisted.
This is no word,
and it doesn’t matter anymore.
6/16/11
James J Jackson 