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You are gifted beyond measure.

In life, we Rise and Fall by our own
actions. That is what is known as
accountability.  Poetry..  in its
Primal Inception, was originally meant
to promote Life..  and thwart, death.

How much more accountable  should
poetry be, than even that of an
everyday life. The problem is in this
world.. and in most all of poetry,
there's a deep separation

   between what one lives..
  and what one writes out, publicly.

You have the magic within yourself.
Maybe you can change Poetry's
current sickness. I doubt it, though.
The all too deadening power of vanity
rules this current world.

You are beautiful, young lady.

Parading through these beautiful Hills..

--You, and your entourage of a mixture
   of dog-like,  well trained, egostrokes..
   and also of men..   whose tattered boots
   you are unworthy, of even tying..

Traipsing across the Badlands--
your long  red hair, flowing..
giving off a stance, (as if)..

--You, and your entourage of a mixture
   of dog-like, well trained, egostrokes..
   and also of men.. in tattered boots
   that you are unworthy, of even tying..

Raining down havoc,  on the Beautiful People
simply for their having  within them ;;
In the Great Father.. and Substance of Spirit;
Neither of which your cowardly Egostroke
will ever garner,  or ascertain..

But oh, you could steal..

And pilfer..
And destroy.

You will pay, oh General *******-boy
Your long, curly locks..
will take on a whole new color,  red
There will be a gathering..
A showdown..

A Holy Reckoning--
In that Montana field,  between the Hills
Along the Little Bighorn..

The River of all Beaten-Down  one's, dreams

injustice knows no bounds


— The End —