I once said it was the sight of sights:
A canyon of red sand and green speckled
Christmas in the flesh; cold, hard and true-
Stingy eternity! Cept that cool breeze
and hot sun handing us days
rotating axes unrolling vistas:
chiaroscuros of pines and aspens
dead or alive as men in machines who
pound asphalt singing till finish-lines
rise from space at a moment’s notice–
before the twenty-first birthday, almost
the great pinnacle of America
when Mr. Adams crafted legislation
and home was a rusty boxcar
before Walmart Supercenters with more
life than Mesopotamian ruins:
harbingers of bountiful harvests
sowing the succulence of transcendence
and consecrating our eternal warfare
to expropriate every mote of dust,
and know all there was to know.
I suppose, maybe, it makes sense.
At least, more than we supposed
when God warbled and Man whispered,
leaving His echoes etched in soil
taking root for reincarnation
atop the bones of bitter generals
dreaming of wholesale slaughterhouses
gazillions of dollars, infinite glory!
strangling that savage oxygen till we
buy a gun but forget ammunition so–
let the Pacific be
and now, please,
hold me close,
please, please!
Hold me close.
Wow– that is deep
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Well friend let’s not skate on the surface of things, rather dive right into the deep end. Impressive, you are not alone…
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thank you, sir.
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I liked this!
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Thanks 🙂
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