You call me strident like it’s a bad thing

My turquoise voice explodes
over you like the heartbreak cannonade
of centennial fireworks.

My chromed up hot-rod voice screams
down midnight highways howling
at the moon.

My darkling crow voice rises like a murder
at the gutshot crack of dawn.

My bourbon voice belts out the rusted
anthems of long lost revolutions.

My carnival voice barks its shins
on the sharp edges of the cast-off huckster
dreams littering my American psyche.

My sandpaper oracle voice tells me
that choice is a silent future where madness
and truth are both policed by sharks.