American Song

In flames,
but
no one notices.

So seared, so
charred; 
no one sees.

Supports are
crumbling, walls
bend inward

toward eventual
collapse; all
apparently 
invisible.

This is how
we sing
our American song:

with eyes closed to
red glare, shouting
from atop

the lungs;
blind, in full
strained voice

as if killing heat
could be deflected
by enough noise,

as if it won’t
fall in upon itself
soon enough, as if

its caving scream
could be drowned
with a loud enough

anthem — in flames,
singing; tumbling
to a full chorus of

oh, say,
can you
see now?

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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