There is no psych ward for the decaying nation
No counselling to the country that has estranged from her values
The supply of mood stabilisers have hiked
And the U has stretched thinly from the N
Pharmaceutical companies and everyone else is afraid dying
But the US, no her handlers are afraid of puberty,
Of browning landscape and climate change pads
Of the possibilities of her liberal cocoon

Her funders, her self-proclaimed Jehova Jirehs
Are vexed by her occupants attempting to escape the recursive loop
Her inflation-taxed eggs and eponymous dreams
Are two sides of the anti-roosevelt dime
Nationalism will blind you to the antichrist
Your fragility will have you jump through mental hoops
to give up your liberty if it could only mean that karma of exploitation will elude you
Projections will trap a fool

The roots of my fair lady are showing
The faculties of the empire are aging
The star-spangled banner no longer fits her
No longer hides the stretch marks where indigenous blood stains her soil/soul
Her conservatorship does not care if her illusion falls
There is still money to squeeze out of her
The oligarchy has waited too long

To think her members once believed democracy is as constant as air,
That it is not something that needs to be stoked, no only the sons and daughters of miner
countries and immigrant parents and alien attacks and the virus of one’s autonomy being
controlled

Could predict that democracy could so easily fold
I do not need a degree to say that I told you so.