#plains
the two of them, blonde and spitfire,
hollow turquoise blue eyes in the sagebrush,
stormy and unspent
reluctant to grow up
homesick
lost in the washed-out denim skies of our prairie,
heather fields sprawled soft grey forever into the skyline,
it's a grainy stage for a 1970s play about alcoholism,
characters dressed pastel in 1980s hand-me-downs,
production with 1990s debt, the script written in the language of early 2000s anxiety.
always fixin' to do it,
planning and unplanning the thing,
learning to tie bows from stolen fishing line,
whatever we caught was the hill's high ransom
twisting the blade and choking it on its own blood.
absolve me, frilly church clothes
and squeaky-clean pearl snaps,
carried away on the wind rushing by pink ears,
running down long cool tile halls,
the whispers of hushed women at our patent leather heels,
saying something... well,
it must be nice or nothin' at all.
forgive them their ignorance
for not knowing just what they do
pushing our hands to their throats
away from each other
I am listening to you, still singing
mom's scratchy old cassette tape of the truth
playing like a gasp between last breaths:
"we are but sisters"
Nov 4, 2025
Nov 4, 2025 at 5:07 PM UTC
It's only bi-sexuality,
Who gives a ****
It's consensual sexuality
Between loving partners.
It ***** being on the cusp
Of any one lean,
But so much worse
Being truly in-between.
It's not indecision,
Not confusion.
That's what's so perplexing
To any outside party.
Not that
It's any easier internally.
For I understand myself
And am comfortable with me,
But it's
Just the nature of society.
Nature of our philosophies,
Nature of our identities.
I'm just a product of nature.
We're all
Royal plains for an ***
We're all
Noble springs *******
I'm just a lover of nature.
If I seem to be having a laugh,
That's not a point you're missing.
But if you can't sense the sadness
It's cause they're kissing.
Apr 19, 2025
Apr 19, 2025 at 1:28 PM UTC
There's something bout this place,
America, rolling plains and jagged peaks,
Skies of stars drifting in my gaze.
Europe has history,
But we have soul,
No where's better for me,
Than America's portion of the seas.
Whether or not we're falling apart,
This landscape is beyond mere art,
After all, we all came here to make dreams,
Not for the perfect life,
But one we'll remember when it ends.
Mar 22, 2025
Mar 22, 2025 at 9:02 PM UTC
When you play Magic; The Gathering,
You gotta understand what color you are inside,
That way you can play your color better.
You could be white like the plains,
Focused on order and loyalty,
Keeping a tight fist on your life.
You could be black like a swamp,
Willing to give anything,
To obtain everything.
You could be blue like an island,
Logical and cold,
Doing the hard job of saying no.
You could be red like a mountain,
Fiery and bold,
Ready to rage out on your enimies.
You could be green like a forest,
Big and boisterous,
Here for the friends and things.
Feb 15, 2025
Feb 15, 2025 at 8:04 PM UTC
Pleading for a purchased god
Romanticized for its ancien régime
Celiac, and yet I licked the wheat paste
Of the letter I was was trimmed A4
In all that time spent by the basin
(and its traffic-trimming wetlands)
I only rode my bike to the depot
To color code my calendar
When capital kept its calls collect,
When the gravy train kept me idle
Each chamber would be emptied
Fruitlessly: punch drunk with praise
(Indulge a little)
Each from four through five: orchestrated
The plains always claim the sixth
(Respecting the tradition of western folk)
Only three will ever threaten treatment
Sep 25, 2022
Sep 25, 2022 at 9:57 PM UTC
Too little may I imagine I an=
swore to code I am
aware bound by
oath, or tack of declared variables, awaiting
suffering now
to be
so
as we find it,
seen as
it appears, random as hell.
Who could imagine that, accurate?
When we spend a free lifetime
of some new
creature formed
in worded being, some
thing and, now named, this as that
name as one, is this
that?
Ever yes, exuberant yes, wir sind, nach einmal…
once again, a gain, immeasurable, but for the
truth unreal numbers may contain,
entertain
the great notion, on my mind
since the Weavers were as likely red as ever
in the grand
signals of edges, approaching everchange
interchange
looping four leaved no-stop flow packeted
info crossed-roads, six-lanes over four
or a roundabout, as in olden time town centers
before town squares and malls to anchor off ramps
any random series of events, fit it in the mind
driving
80 feet per second, steady, not
like falling per second per second to splat
slow lane, fast lane is 125 feet per second, in Texas
ha, giant leap for man mind, accept the
obvious,
flat out
matter is not all there is, even here.
Sep 13, 2021
Sep 13, 2021 at 11:46 AM UTC
blue house
brown house
tan house
brown house
blue house
brown house
brown house
brown house
backyard inside the fence
rocks inside of rivets
dead grass and
rocks inside rivets
rocks inside rivets
bridge over tracks
bridge over trails
bridge over the river
bridge over rails
parking lot
parking lot
parking lot
parking lot
high school called
a dead man’s name
circle
avenue
court
lane
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 9:33 PM UTC
none of you are strong
or independent
how many do you rely on for your food?
your gas? electric, and the roof overhead?
this is a fixed system
a racetrack
where all the horses are doped
all i can say is,
stop running
Jan 12, 2021
Jan 12, 2021 at 10:05 PM UTC
where is the end
everyone has their own
everything is included
flowing waters will find their end and last droplet
winged beasts will land one last time
clouds in the heavens will rain no more
where is the end
fish in all waters will complete their last swim
insects crawling and buzzing about will settle in at last
wheat, corn, and all plants can't take the lack of liquid
mountain peaks, rolling hills, great vast plains hear nothing
where is the end
is there an end
waters may never find that last drop
beasts of the air may never land
rain will always be
fish swimming in the waters will be there
all plants will drink in the moisture of the land
mountain peaks, rolling hills, great vast plains will be listening
we can stop the end
we ALL can stop the end...
Brian Hill - 2020 # 115
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 6:17 PM UTC
He is walking slowly where step by step
measure by measure in the lush meadow
he plays a dulcet meandering air
inviting me to join him there
unbound by dark and foreboding forces
of the viral pervasive present.
I join him and we fly to the open plain
recently refreshed by rain
Oklahoma and its green fields
where the spirits of Native peoples reside
and in soft spring breezes glide
and remember their ancestors’ names
and the simple childhood games
they played kicking up dust of earth
in earshot of their mothers who gave birth
to those precious souls and bodies brown
made of love and Red River and ground.
The flute’s tune again catches me
in its lively streaming strain
and pulls me up to airy heights
to join the dance of darkness and light
in spirit realms where beauty
and reality tango together in peace.
Apr 6, 2020
Apr 6, 2020 at 12:16 PM UTC
My Dakota plains
Broken by clusters of trees
That surround farms
Connected by black thin lines
Draped between poles
That follow roads
Or a shortcut across fields
On giant steel mannequins
Standing watch over
Corn, beans, sunflower
Or cows or horses
Or sheep
On My Dakota prairie
With rich black dirt
That feed crops
And sustain our towns
Our clusters of life
Our family and self.
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 12:43 AM UTC
There’s a horse on a field,
grazing upon grass as the wind plays its favorite tune,
a mountain song,
trickling down upon the eastern flat plains of Colorado.
Her head hung low in soft serenity,
this black mare stares upwards towards a blue purple red sky.
She asks not why or what,
but is simply aware of the natural.
Enjoying her meal,
this black mare alone on her favorite field,
concealed by a white fence,
one more day coming to an end,
turns to her stable,
ready to return.
The sky turns a dark blue.
A September shiver rattles her old craggy bones,
but the stable shelters her from further pain.
Time to rest,
and tomorrow all the same.
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
It's fine to look back to see how
far you have come. Don't
dwell, the past should
stay behind you.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 5:47 PM UTC
Crops crave for water at a hill
Thirst visible on their stalks
The sky gushes a coal black
_But no._ It is not rain.
_Nothing_ to quench a crop’s thirst.
Only the manifestation of darkness
roaming the skies
_And yes._ Walking on a road, intimidated,
Before me, in the distance:
_Nothing_ but dead man’s hill
_But now_ a smirking old woman:
Silently still.
May 10, 2018
May 10, 2018 at 10:02 PM UTC
So warm with subtle life.
Rolling desert hills and splotches of green.
I loved your plains.
Oh, the tanned beauty.
But I, from the north east,
could never predict the drought.
For seasons don't change in the desert,
and rain rarely falls upon the plains.
I was going through the terms.
All the snow, and changing of leaves.
You watched with great admiration.
And your dry surface cracked.
And I knew you could never freeze.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 1:04 PM UTC
A white herd of buffalo--
angelic ancestors manifest--
galloping in silence
as they cross the Vast.
And here I lay small
in the cooling wake of their shadows
that caress and whisper to me
just as they do the gentle hill beneath
me, and her sisters,
covered in velvet pastures
of gold, of green, of grey, of blue.
And here I lay down
like the animal defiantly far
from his hurd. I'm abandoned
from the blistering heat
and coarse unholy asphalt.
There is a peace in feeling small--
in feeling alone--
and my mind drifts along
with the shadows all around me.
My hair takes up life and plays
like children with the grasses in the wind.
I stare beyond the eagle's cry
where the noble ones above have
become purple from carrying
with them for miles and miles
Hope, pouring clear and wet, and
Grace, flashing a pure stream of light.
And with the first call of thunder
I stand.
With my bones aching with anticipation,
my fingers reaching for the connection,
I stand.
Alive and made plain.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC