we’re good at making

something from nothing,

laying ideas on tables,

working in primaries like children,

while somehow group efforts urge

pastiches of opposing bias.

stripes wave into jazzy

ribbons of syncopation,

stars dart toward black holes,

patterns are no longer uniform

and fragments of old glory

fit ever-changing models.

using scissors, thread,

presser foot and ingenuity,

we piece together bodices of industry,

sew languid sleeves that drift

like weathered leaves through water,

zip catches of years of frenetic aggression,

let out waistbands from overindulgence,

craft new American identities

from designer to knock-off,

immediate and ready to wear.