Strip malls squat at the end of endlessly unrolling parking lots. Gas stations, Sunday beer sales on billboards. Diners, neon signs in bright day, gas-guzzlers and unpacking family groups: sun smacked matriarch; sun caressed daughter. Patriotic anthem belters, clothed in the assurance of the American flag. Chevrolet, BK, Friendly's ice cream & restaurant -- looping f, red. White washed clapboard, red brick, low hipped, side gabled, pretentiously turreted. Same the nation over. Belgium waffle, whipped cream turd. Bacon, sausages everywhere. Get the car gassed, guzzle then get back to guzzling. 3-laned, the blue crest summons. Green, rust, I-beams, and cables over the Merrimack. The Lonesome Crowded West plays. I love America. Western world consumerism, soullessly soulful, empty closeness. All I want is nothing.

your golden hair Margareta; your ashen hair Shulamite - Paul Celan, Death Fugue 1948