What Can You Say About Our Dead Country?
America, I am not here to say what you already know about the body of our country:
That whatever shards of democratic glass remained inside our rotting skin has now been stabbed into the ailing heart of our republic, subdued into custody, paraded atop a charlatan's pitchfork, and broadcast to the entire hospital;
That bodies of freedom are chewed up and passed from mouth to mouth until they are nothing but dust blown into wishful wind because our nation cannot swallow justice, yet it drools to polish legions of carcinogens whole;
That we take responsibility for heroic feelings, and none of our failures, because we are roofied with dopamine and our blood pumps cells that are a barbarically red, martyrically white, yet somehow lack a single platelet;
That we choose to guillotine half our figure when we stare in the mirror so we can imagine what it would be like to live with less weight;
That this body is binding these desensitized tribes that are delusionally diseased and unsympathetically spreading symptoms down streets we can no longer walk on;
That every hopeful day turns to further despair and dread when we realize we have become irresistibly erratic from drips of self-interest IV's in the form of "we care" creams, policy pills, and reform radiation;
That our leaders have squeezed our flesh and bones until every drop of water and oxygen has hit the hospital floor and we are left to die without a single visitor by our side.
I'm not here to tell you about the body of our country because it only exists as severed limbs — buried beneath government buildings in the District of Columbia; neglected by subway riders from Chicago to New York; floating down the polluted and fractured waters of the Mississippi River; washing up along shorelines from California to Florida; frozen in the dark crevices of the Rocky Mountains; and left to be picked at by vultures atop the Grand Canyon.
What I am here to tell you, though, is this:
There are two heroes sleeping somewhere between the defrauded mobs and all these dismembered appendages...
The first may never wake to journey and assemble and breathe a healing breath into the stitched and stapled wounds of a dead country.
The second: a visionary who is awake while he dreams up a nation with no body at all.
Are you there?
Can you hear me?
America needs you.