grass grows through the cracks in the asphalt
of what was once glass avenue.
flashes of grayed sunlight reveal blasted facades
offering a peek through the gauzy veil of
years both distant and near.
woe be unto those whose days are spent
looking backward, for the past holds naught but
the pail glimmer of souls lost
to all but thought and memory.
shade and spirit haunt this place.
the river rages unabated over the locks at TVA;
a reminder of the folly of all grand designs;
there is no power here.
gone are your craft beers and artisan pickles and
small plate miracles filled with
foraged mushrooms and
duck confit.
gone are your bike trails and long hikes and
nature walks
down around the *** the pan and the handle.
appalachia has fallen.
the last stand lasted all of sixty seconds;
a minute too long.
Feb 1, 2016
Feb 1, 2016 at 1:10 PM UTC
grass grows through the cracks in the asphalt
of what was once glass avenue.
flashes of grayed sunlight reveal blasted facades
offering a peek through the gauzy veil of
years both distant and near.
woe be unto those whose days are spent
looking backward, for the past holds naught but
the pail glimmer of souls lost
to all but thought and memory.
shade and spirit haunt this place.
the river rages unabated over the locks at TVA;
a reminder of the folly of all grand designs;
there is no power here.
gone are your craft beers and artisan pickles and
small plate miracles filled with
foraged mushrooms and
duck confit.
gone are your bike trails and long hikes and
nature walks
down around the *** the pan and the handle.
appalachia has fallen.
the last stand lasted all of sixty seconds;
a minute too long.
