It feels like America should be greater.
Jetpacks, at least. The collective
disillusionment that we are not, in fact,
special, that each individual, and all of us,
amount to nothing much. We’re grit
in a much bigger wheel. But people still learn
to spin a stone across ice while sweeping
furiously ahead of its path. Clearing grit,
see? Sometimes the guy comes out with
a dial measure to determine, in microns,
just how close a given rock is to the center.
You’re nowhere near the center, Donald –
none of us are. It’s the lie of progress,
brought low by the vastness of space.