Gustav Hasford
Bedtime Story

    Sleep, America.
    Silence is a warm bed.
    Sleep your nightmares of small
            cries cut open now
            in the secret places of
    Black Land, Bamboo City.

    Sleep tight, America
            dogtags eating sweatgrimaced
            TV-people
    Five O'clock news:  My son the Meat.

    Laughing scars, huh?
            Novocained fist.
    Squeeze every window empty
            then hum.

    Fear only the natural unreality
            and kiss nostalgia goodbye
    Bayonet teddy bear and snore.
    Bad dreams are something you ate.
            So sleep, you mother.
 
 

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