O sad American night,
With her fingers stretching
O'er the fields, prairies, and streams-
O sad American night,
Falling on top of faces of
The poor, the helpless, and meek,
Hard-faced bretheren building
Houses and streets.
The lonely American night-
Quiet, wise, promising,
She allows her men, women, and children
The silent moment to think
Of future, getting out of this place;
When the sun rises, leaving this
Insufferable space.

Heavy American night,
Joining fellows around fires,
Whispering tales of hope,
The end of her people getting tired.
The night time,
Like hands covering eyes from behind,
Is clever,
And she disappears as a whisp of smoke.
So- lonely, angry, and forlorn are the realizers;
Blissful, unaware, joyful are the rest,
For those bretheren have not met
The underbelly of the beast,
And like a pool of tar is their current situation:
Sad, dark, and hopelessly infinite...
They shall forever have an ankle stuck in it.

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7/21/2012

"... and as of yore, he too was telling his life story and never dreamed we were passing, at that exact moment in the highway headed for Mexico, telling our own stories. O sad American night!" -Jack Kerouac, On the Road.