“We will be drilling with a fresh water mud system which has no environmental impact.”
- Allan P. Bloxsom III, President
As woodland creatures shy until the dark Drift as a silent blessing through the trees At dusk some sad folk gather ‘round the wounds Gored geometrically into the ground A palisade of wood and water and earth Now guarding nothing but pale desolation: A pond of death whose hydrocarbon sheen In corpselike stillness entertains no life A sewerage ditch bedecked with human turds A dumpster skip piled high with promises Piles of unidentified white powder An unattended garbage fire, a shirt Some bolts, planks, screws, sandwich wraps, cigarette butts A cargo cult of curiosities Liturgically in statio around The Hole That venerable new hole, that hole of hope That fabled argosy laden with dreams That fell into the depths, and never returned At dawn a tower stood, adorned with lights By dusk it was folded, and stolen away Like the long-storied tents of Araby Or a Roman camp in the Teutoburg Abandoned among the darkening woods For the curious primitives to poke And **** about, chattering in their tongue About the marvels of a superior race Who make no environmental impact.