I’ve been thinking a lot about the American voice

So brash

Bold

and often ugly

 

The one that says

you don’t measure up

there’s always more you could’ve done

you have to work harder

never take breaks

grind yourself into the ground

and

never break

 

Ideal

the Dream

What fantasy!

Who made this reality?

 

Short

Stoppy

Stutter

Life may be a vapor

but in America, it’s a screech

Nothing so soft and wispy

Whimsical and light

Weightless

 

We don’t have time to die here

Who has hours to spare for a funeral?

Time to write a eulogy?

 

They say Dickinson

Whitman

Joyce

Created the American voice

And I have to notice

It isn’t whimsical or light

It slams

Stops

and then goes on and on and on and on and

On

 

Like the American dream

it is full of sharp stops

but there is no end to it,

the monotony 

it goes

On

and on

and on and

On