What day is it where we at, where is
the ****, were you trying to smoke
my cat??

I see things through glassed eyes,
my mouth has the hunger, but I'm
to ****** to drive, Whats in the fridge
in the cupboard, fck it i can make a
munchie feast out of that.

I smoke with friends or when alone, i,ll
smoke in the dark room the spliff my
only light I see *"wow look at those trails...

I have speed dial on my phone 1 is my
frindly dealer who delivers to my home,
2,3,4 take away pardise they no what I
want when ever I phone.

I,m a stoner there is no mistake, I will
always be happy unless my **** does
get braked, and if my phone battery dies
no mucnchies, no smoke, I couldn't deal
with that, *"wow look at the pretty lights,

The weather was cold
The winds blew up carrying ice *****
No matter they were big or small
But they were carrying drying for skins
And great amount of diseases
The hungry man knocked the door
The miser man opened the door
The hungry man said a word and more
“I am hungry, I want some food
To eat and repair my mood!”
The miser man said at anger
,”there is no food and be outer”
The hungry man fell at the floor
The miser man with cold blood closed the door
The cat was near that
The cat saw that and came at fast
She touched the fallen man at first
She said and screamed
, The man approached to be dead”
She ran at speed

The three dogs stood at dark
At the corner of the park
They were her enemies and carried black
And hard heart

One said,” she was so conceited
The second completed, “she thought she was princess, she was created ‘’
The third said, “I must get his nose downed"
They ran after her
The great steps were heard
A big dust covered the land
They ran and escaped
She met her friend that was the cat
Jon was his name
She was curl with one foot
He was amazed and then laughed
He said,” you must get great fight
And you must beat all”
She looked angry
She said in completely,”
I met Kranckle, Dangle, and Bangle  
The three dogs ran before me and wanted to hurt
But I was so brave
I stood as one who must save
The lost justice from the dark in native
I did as “Bruce Lee’ in mark
I ran and jumped over the wall
It was dark
I tried to overlap
To be at their back
But I failed and fell
A great dust was occurred
They ran and escaped
I stood to strike my chest
With my hands, were closed
To show how I am strong
But I fell at the land”
Her friend laughed after that
She looked and said,’’
Bad boy bad”
She sighed and said,”
The hungry man may be dead
We must get him saved!”
Jon looked in surprise
He said as he looked as wise,”
Who is the hungry?”
She looked at him and pulled
Him with her strong mouth.
She said, "we need a strong one at first
He said with great nervous,”
Am I not so in obvious”
She did not answer and he was dragged
In spite of his well or his eager
They suddenly stood in front of Ankle's dog door
She called at him at loud
He was out
He laughed and said,” The cocky cat at front
Of me, I must hurt “
She bowed as the singer at the play
She said in polite way,”
My lord, I want your help!
I need you hand”
He acted like her way
He said, "ask and I respond!”
She said and shouted,’’ What is your kind?
The fallen man needed to be saved”

Ankle was surprised
He said,’’ Yesterday, you mocked”
Liz laughed in spite of her well and said,”
Forget it, forget”
Ankle asked,”what is your demand?”
Without wait she ran before him and pushed
From his back
For Jon’s surprise, he obeyed
He was ready to walk
They reached to the fallen
Ankle said,” that must be dead”
Liz screamed and mewed and said, “No!”
She cried at loud
She cried as that fallen like her father
She walked with hesitating,
She put her ear at his chest
Her face was so closed
Then he got so bright
As the sun appeared after long hide
She said.” He is still alive
We must be in hurry
To maintain his life
As the God gives it
That is right?”
Ankle said,” the human is stingy
He is honor to show that
To show his hate to his brother
Liz said,” Do the fair
And throw it at the air”
She said,” we need away
To transport him in speed way”

A big tree trunk was laid
A fast taxi was braked
Angry driver had to be out
He screamed so aloud
The street was so empty
His sound was repeated several times
In echo as fearing manners
He said,” Who puts that ****** trunk?
He must be fool”
Liz appeared suddenly
She jumped at his face
Jon bit him from his breech
Ankle tried to push, push
The angry man,”Zicko” obeyed
They signed to the fallen man
He screamed,” No!”
That seemed to be killed”
Liz looked angry
Jon mewed in nervous manner
“you must know his killer”
Ankle barked
The man was forced
He pulled him to the taxi
As the driver was old and soft
He said,” if that was killed
I may be accused”
He drove to the hospital
It was ranked
It was for high class persons
The reception ordered and shouted
At the cats and dog to be out
Zicko said,” they came with me”
The reception said after calculating
‘”we want a great amount of Egyptians pounds
It preferred to be in dollars”
They were shocked
How could they get that amount?
They looked and were shocked
The hospital laid the hungry at the land
Liz ordered,”
Come without wait”
They rode the car
They reached the stingy home
Zicko knocked at the door
The man was out
The miserly was out
Zicko tried to talk and ask
Until Jon and Liz were penetrated
They entered the home
They didn’t know any room
Liz screamed,” the second plan”
Ankle jumped behind the man
Zicko ordered to get money
He gave them with unhappy
Liz signed to tie
The man and get the key
As if they needed another demand

The money was paid
The man was in intensive care
Liz laughed and said,”
It is Egypt
If we didn’t get money
The man must die”
The surgeon came and said,”
We need medicine in fast,
As it was rare and it costs high amount
Zicko with his friends took off
They returned to the stingy one
They took what they need
They brought the medicine
To hospital, that  had stars

The miserly could untie
He told the police
The police got as hydrophobic status
They didn’t know what’s happened and case
Zicko left them and disappeared
Liz wanted to get the dinner
They were completely in hunger  
They waited out of the restaurant
They saw the waiter carried the delicious food
It was obvious from outer restaurant
After the waiter put it on the table
Jon was under it
Liz followed
Ankle remarked
Jon stole the meat
Sending it to liz, and reaching to Ankle
Ankle hurried and got out
For bad, ankle ate all
Liz and Jon made a deal
They got a food, and ankle must help
But he would not even taste it
Liz and Jon repeated
The police suddenly approached
The police searched
Krankle, Dangle and Bangle searched
Their smell sense was used
They wanted to revenge
From that cat that made them as stooge
Liz and Jon were eating
While ankle was remarking
He was coming in fast
They were told, they escaped


The cats and the dog mocked them
They entered the restaurant
The three dogs were behind
They waited until they were remarked
By these stupid dogs
The dogs hurried and entered
Ankle jumped at the servant
Who was carrying a pile of dishes
The dishes were broken
The servant shouted

The cats and dog were out
Ankle barked at loud
The police remarked
The police got in
He caught the stupid

Zicko felt with the conscious pain
He returned so fast to gain
Their happy and maintain
The favor could remain and sustain
He searched for his lovers
He remarked the police cars
He followed them
He found his friends jumped and escaped
He called at, not so loud
They were at the car which was out
They went to the hospital, asking for their man
They found no one
Liz had her tears fallen
Liz cried and mewed
Zicko went to ask about his corpse
He found no one
Till the smiley nurse was seen
She told them he was still alive
But he was moved to another room

They searched for another rich
To take some money to help other poor and might wish
A good and a happy life, they dream to approach

They sang and said,”
We wanted a fare
Like the smile at face
Hate the anger appear
And the heart who caries hate
We are friends
We love the world
All people are brothers and sisters
Creatures must live in happy and peace”

The end

IF I could have stopped you.
I would have jumped in my car, raced to Hohenwald,  and slung gravel as I sped down your driveway, braked fiercely to stop inches from that guest house,  and fly out  from the inside of my car,  screaming, "Don't do it!  I'm here,   Uncle Brandon!  I love you! We all love you! "
I would have ran up the cedar steps, kicked the door in with my foot,  and yelled as loud as I could until you answered me.
No matter how many times I yell at your headstone, you never answer me.
You were a cowboy, traveling all over the country,  and seeing sights that many would never witness in their lifetime.
You had broken every bone in your body twice
you had a sense of humor
intelligent (two degrees), both in English and Teaching.
You had dreams of being a lawyer and
a college professor.
Only you were a cowboy first.
You loved to ride,  and you loved with a heart bigger than Montana sky.
I wish you had not left.
I miss seeing your dark brown matted hair, peeking from beneath your torn,  curved cowboy hat as you tipped it at me, with a wink,  adding, "See you when the wind changes"
You were a poet.
I think of you when I write,  and part of me still blames myself for not telling anyone about seeing you at my work that night.  You looked awful and I knew something was wrong,  but I didn't say anything--I have no clue why.  
You loved life,  why did you leave?
You had love,  why did you look?
We were your family,  why did you leave?  
I shouldn't be typing this
You are dead.
The world lost a true cowboy.
A man that lived by the sweat of his brow,  and the dirt on his clothes.
I would have stopped you.  I would have grabbed that gun,  and hugged you for the longest time,  and then I would have saddled up your horse and one for me.
Then the four of us would trot along to the highest hill we could find,  and I would watch the sun move across the sky, and tell you that every sunset of every day is always different, so you don't need to miss a single one.

Uncle Brandons last poem
   Im riding. Riding this way is like playing a finely tuned instrument, at times delicate, at other times powerful... The true artist can play with equal dexterity a soft ballad or a crashing march.

Stick and stones can Braked your bones
But words will tear your soal into tiny pieces
Maybe not all at once
But little by little
Slice by slice
The wounds will heal
But the wounds of the soal takes more the just time
And if those wounds don't heal
U die, not physically you can't be that Lucky
, no I can't be that lucky
When your soul bleeds it bleeds hope
Hope of change, hope of man kind, and hope that you are not the words, that people call you.

My soul has ran dried befor,
Sliced way to many time
And me with no confidence to stich it back up
I was to the point of opting out,
Saying **** it.

I was tired of being called a freek tired of being told  that I am less
That my life ment nouthing
Then I started to bleave it
That the world would be better with out me
And hell it would of been
I did not contribute to this world
Never made a change

I was so **** close
Blood flowing down my wrist
My mettifulical soul
Looking like my wrist
And obviously I lived

But you don't get over that kind of **** alone
It doesn't despair
It builds
U need a rope to get out of that rapid
You know what mine was.....
Words
The same thing that sliced my soal
That night I dreamed
That I was a writer
That my words did more good than the words of the outhers did harm
Not just for me but for others like me
Despair oozing out of them
Hatred coating there mind
That the only thing keeping them alive
Was the fact they cut across the tracks and not along

The next day I wrote
I wrote stories and poems
Letting my worries of the fuecher draw hope from the page and into me
Letting me clime out of my self pity
Without drugs
Without other people (the way I do everything)
And I lived
Not like I was, day by day
No I was finally alive I wanted to live
Not just because its what was expected
But I wanted this, I wanted my dream
I wanted to save not just my life
But some one else
To tell them
Yea words can beat you down, drag you to your grave, dig u a 9foot grave and berry you
But they can also brang you back to life, more alive than before.
Words can give you some thing that you felt you never had
Love, and love is what repair the wounds of your soul,
Show you that you have a reason to live,
No matter if those words are internal or external
They can heal you, and free you from the world that I once feared

tonight when I got home
I pulled my hair into a ponytail.
I wished I could have kept pulling,
up and up until every little thing
and every last hair was off my shoulders.
-
I was running down my street tonight.
a meager glance down and I saw
another shadow chasing mine.
breathlessly,
excitedly I braked
in time to realize both shadows belonged to me.
-
tonight I mapped the distance
from Salt Lake to Phoenix;
11 hours and 18 minutes.
should I stop through Vegas
or the Grand Canyon?
-
I fell asleep alone tonight
in a bed too spacious for my body.
through murky midnight eyes,
I thought I caught you turning over.
what I didn't realize
is that you are not sleeping here
not tonight
and not the night before.

Faced back before the field space overrun
of runway's end, rusted spikes of flower'd
dock, the field left empty there.  World's
airport flatlined beyond and down the sky
ride planes on turbined mist.  The stack's
descent, each air-braked glide to tarmac
draws another on and down the day
I slip off into, drive away
along the curve of it.  Before

Haslemere, where a tight hedged bend turns up
to the town, is a roe deer, struck dead against
a van.  The driver, in descent,
appalled before the long, spread body
of this two year buck, its twin-tined head
laid to ground, a trickle of blood at the mouth.

It fell to this elegant pose
athwart the van's front width,
white neck flopped from the withers;

Crash landed in a sudden grace of death.

(The one where I’m feeling sorry for my cheating ex-girlfriend.0

We met the grim reaper on my 18th birthday.
He arrived to the party, uninvited,
dressed in ribbons
and legality
and student loans.  

Driving a silver Sudan
Eminem turned all the way up,
He hard braked in the turn lane next to us,
Skillfully smirking, words pulled back on his tongue like arrows.
ready to strike.

Bullseye.

There I sat, cross faded in your passenger seat, crying for the 50th time over how Brockhampton is like
The best thing to happen to rap since Odd Future.
Singing “who’s got the feeling” at the top of my lungs.
Happy.

I got a kiss at every red light.
No matter how quickly you turned away

Back then red and orange traffic lights were our dancefloor
We stood glowing in our favorite colors
Making up for every touch we could not share at prom.
I thought “god, if this barres me from heaven I’m already here with her.”  

I’d heard he always shows up at the worst times.
He, the reaper.
He’d really been there all along
In the smile of the lady at iHOP who invited us to church
In the down turned edges of mouths on waiters faces when I say,
“no, sir, we’ll be paying together”
I saw two girls kissing in the corner tonight and I only wish you were here to see it too.
I beg you come be with me.
Careful pitches “See these examples see what we can have”
Blue blood runs dry when their hearts are still soaked in red,
so no the money isn’t worth staying for.
You’re suffocating in red and right and trump signs.

She’s screaming baby, my love, pretty girl,
You are just too far,
and I am just too lonely.
We spent hundreds of days hating ourselves for loving each other.
Maybe we were too busy hating ourselves to actually love each other
She cannot meet me in the middle when she shackled to the start.

She reminds me of the reaper,
He lives inside her.
In the memories of being called a ****** at Christmas dinner.
Between picking out pears in the grocery store.
In the happiness over a haircut.
Happiness from my hands

Our breakup was not clean or neat or wholesome
It was all tears and excuses and hatred.
I still should’ve been there,
You’re the only one who understood how badly loving me hurts
I know it’s hard to love me.
To be good enough for me.
I haven’t figured out how to be good enough for myself either.

We’re Joking about how you mother thought we sat in circles
Whispering secrets, braiding
instead of pulling hair.
Now I watch as you pull yours out
Because ******* it you’re trying.
White people get away with killing kids all the time
Why would this be any different?

I’m in your passenger seat again
Asking what’s wrong, please answer me.
Where have you gone?
I’m pounding on a sealed casket
Pounding on the earth you lay beneath.
She is silent.

We held each other in pools of tears
Repeating that one day it gets better.
One day.
I feel guilty for living that truth
While you are stuck.

Yet still,
I will smile every June 11th
And wish you well.
I hope you’re still swimming
The creek we loved picked up quite the current.

She was definitely dumping him
All she needed was the right opportunity
It was like that song
Fifty ways to leave your lover
Now just to get it through to him
You’re crap in the sack Jack
If only you were more like Stan
What a man
Or even Gus
Though you do have a lot in common with Gus
You always go by bus
God, you’re so last year
Out on your ear
Okay maybe that was a bit severe
Need a new plan
I’m just going to tell you straight
Before it’s too late
Don't come on all coy
There's something I have to tell you
It's about me and Roy
I’m having his boy
I know what you’re going to say
What happened to Lee
Let me see
It started on the bus
Him and Gus
I don’t want to discuss
Okay, well Stan caught them
Do I need to spell it out
Stan said they were all like brothers
Now it seems they two are lovers
Stan was devastated
I mean, was that in the plan
Anyway, Roy told him about us
Which was fatal for you and Gus
When the driver braked
Driving the bus
Stan no more
So I end this letter
Missing you Jack
Such a young age to leave
Just turned fifty, lover.

i want to write you the perfect poem
i want to string words together so spectacularly that you tattoo them on the inside of your eyelids
i want to write you the world, wrap these lines in a bow and leave the package on your doorstep
i want to write you the perfect poem,
but i'm an imperfect person and love,
so are you

you are the bags under my eyes
i carry you with me wherever i go
and you draw the most attention to the brightest parts of me
my under eye bags are the only cosmetics i wear daily;
you are the result of late nights of laughter and 1 AM drives home

you sopped up the spilled cherry coke in the back of my car with napkins from my glove box
i braked too hard and it spilled all over your feet
it was a quiet ride home
my knuckles were white on the steering wheel and my head a blur of apology
my favorite mop;
my messes are yours and yours will be mine and i've never been one for tidiness but i'd scrub the world clean for your smile

you are
the dent in my passenger side door,
the soreness in my muscles,
the paint stains in all of my jeans;
i can’t get rid of it, i’ll never get rid of it;
the dent gives my car character
the soreness makes my body feel real
the stains make me feel free and the jeans fit me like a glove

i like routine and you are a part of mine
text you tease you love you
wash rinse repeat

i could send you a thousand love letters
i’ll keep them in a shoebox instead

i'll write your name into the stars,
i'll carve my love for you in the moon,
print it on postcards,
press it into my skin
but i cannot write you the perfect poem

I almost got into a car crash the other day.
This car swerved in front of me and then braked.
I had to slam on my brakes, going from 60 to 10 mph in a few seconds.
I could hear the screech, and smell the tires.
I could see the car a few feet away from the front of mine.

My natural reaction was to get away.  
I got into a different lane.
Because I didn't want to be near the crazy driver.
It was a natural, normal reaction.
I didn't hate the driver, I was just trying to save myself.

You're angry at me for not being your friend anymore.
But it's not because I hate you.
It's because I'm trying to survive.
It's a natural reaction to avoid things that hurt you.
I'm sorry for not being your friend anymore.
But I have to survive.

Rattlesnake*
      or *of zealous sapphire

An era of old and golden skies,
in a desert of silent-film sienna,
ragtime sepiatone and a pyrite sunrise,
pinstriped wiseguys sold the valley sand,
fit in felt fedoras and shaking leather hands
on namesakes ornate with glowing jewels,
a boulevard curbed and paved,
concrete stiles and marble tiles upon
a cosmic palisade of glass, inlaid
and framed in miles and miles
of brass and brightly colored burning gas.
A glamorous new epoch burst forth,
avaricious in its incandescent gloss,
when they raised this monument
of the brightest kind, we gained,
and some gave a dear cost in trade
for the cones inside of our eyes.

I am a chemical reaction
that reels recklessly
between dancing Stardust
and downward spiral.
I am charisma so coy.

We've all slivered shades of silver
and sugar coursing through our veins,
spears poised upon the ancient prairie,
blades of bone, bending bows, and
coursing prey on prehistoric plains.
Mixed in us and inherited still, this thrill -
the chill, the chase and the payoff,
the risk and the waiting, the praying
your scent, your sense, or dollars and cents
aren't fatally spirited away.
Lately, the ferns are thinning
so we've traded them for sins
and felt of the same color,
our hoards of arrowheads and clubs
printed now upon paper cards,
reticulum tuned not for tracking or furs,
but spinning and flashing,
whistling, whirrs, and winning motorcars.

I've a heart that's Horseshoe shaped,
a lucky charm I risk on,
and win and lose on,
and always hope
at least for an even break.

The triumphs of man are the product
of cams and crankshafts, pistons and oil,
plumes of shadow spewing into the sky.
Westward ran the rails, stacking bricks wide,
raising sticks high and uncoiling telegraph wire
into the furious bustle of industrial-grade hustle,
an inchoate flag, perfect suits,
three card monties, and filthy collars
all of zealous sapphire.
Generations admire at the Union's gate
the stately electric minarets pushing skyward,
towering metal tracks ushering light
onto a sphynx of quartz, pitch as pusher breath,
delta at the neon roads,
where chrome locomotives out of Chicago
braked in the glow of this phosphorescent portico
once plated in droptop Eldorados.

My parents are celebrated people,
so I was celebrated in kind
my birthday blazoned
over my hometown Plaza.
A worthy place and worthwhile time.

I drive this canyon oftentimes alone
and watch the sparkle of the valley unfold before me.
It's a sea of glittering scales, hissing "welcome home,"
I'm secure in this coiled-up crotalus that so adores me.

A gray rain
is slinking down
the sunken crown
of alley lane.
Green-topped church,
I bid goodbye
to your broad thigh,
a mourning perch.
I'll miss the stone
that frames this view
of moon, a bitten scone
against night's broken brew -
you were a hardy bone
that braked my raving blues.

There's red on Nandina,
berries blazing among
morning's mist

Years ago you were
a sprig, shiny green
hiding below the white spruce

Once,  nearly
pulled along with other
less worthy underbrush

Like the car that braked on
time, like the strike of lightening
that missed the cabin

Survival can show
bright, radiant
veil of flaws

Gone, times of trial
evasions of destruction
hidden behind the glare

-


in case you may not know, it was the last car
at the end of a train, usually it was a red or
occasionally a yellow color which would be
clearly noticed

this car was manned in order to monitor the
train from that end for any issues, particularly
in case an axle from one of the coal cars locks
up and catches on fire

but i guess this feature was eliminated due to
improvements in the wheel assemblies, or maybe
because they had new electronic monitoring for the
crews in the locomotives

if you are under the age of thirty, this may not have
been general knowledge to you since the use of these
cars were phased out sometime in the 1980's, now a
red flashing light signifies the end of the train

you can see one of these cars parked near the city
square just north of the Tennessee/Kentucky
border in Guthrie— there is just enough rail
underneath to hold it braked in place

i think the rails once extended to the mainline
and the car was trapped there when acetylene
cutters terminated its route in either direction.

the men who rode it are now
the ghosts of everlasting
employment.

now we have thousands riding the
caboose of their careers amidst
red blaring lights that flash
from all imaginable
directions—

many of them sitting motionless
upon routes that go nowhere...



s jones
2010-2020

And I passed people on the highway
in front of a pile of their belongings
spilled upon the shoulder
from a bloated pickup bed
At church someone told the tale
and added
that motorists honked at the owners
when they tried to walk back to where the spill began
and collect their mattress love seat
lamp shade stuffed giraffe
"like they ain't already got enough problems"
one sagely concluded

And when I walked by
no one honked at the arm leg
kidney ear patella
fourth metatarsal shattered soul
ejected at high speed
as I fell apart
parts dropped like breadcrumbs
too something to stop and pick them up
No one gaped
no one braked
I suppose no one was inconvenienced
by my disintegration

Some days I'd rather be a problem
four tires facing up
rolled over in a ditch
beyond the mangled guard rail
honking cars audience to my broadcast indignation
desperation
loneliness
regret
I'd rather be a byword some days
as kind church ladies tut-tutted over my predicament
and shushed the busy, impatient drivers
Yeah -- like I ain't already got enough problems
Right?  See?

I crashed my car
Thinking about you.

Standing in the debris,
I thought about stepping into the street.

Because I can’t call you
And ask for a ride.  
You won’t come get me
And save me from the headlights.

Last night I counted pills
Hoping there would be enough.
But tonight, I braked when I saw lights
Racing faster than a second blink.

In the glowing red
I saw your smile,
Your warm brown eyes.

As my head smacked the seat,
I felt your hands in my hair,
Putting me to sleep.

I heard your laugh
In the crunching metal
And tasted your lips in the exhaust I inhaled.

So this is how you love me,
As careless and distracted as I drive.
You were always
An accident waiting to happen.

Theandric
Relating to, or existing by,
the union of divine and human
operation in Christ, or the joint agency
of the divine and human nature…

in any ever after, timeless nature is thinkable,
first peaceable, gentle, easily made easy with,
free as the wind
true rest in coincidence, yes, the actual idea,
yes in opposition to no, and working together,
stirring in whole new precepts to judge with,
chaos and beauty, stormy weather and calm,
tobe ra', post internet literate inventory bots,
aiaiai
what could I have known,
had I read then what I read today, had it been
thinkable back in the times we made order,
made muscles remember qwerty gestures, ai,
as if we have a genius for testing best easy ways,
we build on each easier way, we meander theandric,
- as it is written whosoever is a grand inclusion
androautomatical informational intelligence leg-ends
collections of meaningful reasons for faith usage.
Garbs of right uses,
lose all value,
naked.
True.
Idleness at days end, gloaming sophist tries,
means of matching first impressions, is it real,
or Memorex, tell me wordless window watcher.
Watching infants gain first order for search
oh how happy we shall be, when we know our
ABC-DE
mmmmhmm four square frame of reference,
Hollies, look through any window/

now, I am the grandfather, proud, with no hubris,
as salt with no savor, good for preserving old paths.

Leave it be, today, I made these remarks,
at the same time something happened everywhere.

And now, these times of constant entertaining
information acquisition with intention
expand
to graphically appear in the mind of any ever
who ever rewatched "My Octopus Friend"

and American Utopia, and the Last Waltz,

Class action inclusive bubble develops, but now,
we stretch, was my grand father low or middle brow?

How long was America MAGA ablized, rooted

Caliche, soft lime, left deep ruts where braked
wagons ground recessed groves, we could see,

those mostly got eroded away after a century.

My grandfather rode from Sweetwater to Williams,
on horses he tamed and made useful,
on horses his father shod, and taught him to shoe,

such knacks as smith's must grow to feel known,
to any degree as fine as tempering spring steel,

using modified fires of inner solar ovens,
the size of the point of the smallest star you see.

Spot welding aitia precepticonical connection,
where chata left a gap open to chabad concoctions.

You are worth so much**
Think of all of the thousands of leaves
And of all the blades of grass
That would have never stirred had you not driven that car down the old asphalt of your hometown
Those people who you held the elevator for
Wouldn't have gotten to work on time
Think of every bird that never would have roosted in that tree you planted when you were 17
And of the squirrel that you braked for that someone else wouldn't have
You have a place in this universe
You are a sky of greatness
And without you
Nothing would be the same

Life is a life
Driving home I nearly hit a rabbit
braked hard and the can of lager fell out of my hand.
We country folk drinks a lot; the police never stop you
unless you drive off the road and plough into a flock of sheep
then you are fined, and the police take the carcass home
dinner, for a big family.
So who am I sentimental over a rabbit when
there are chemical attacks on children in Syria,
and the war of attrition never ends
by courtesy of those who do not want peace there.
How am I sentimental when children are killed?
In Gaza children wounded by teargas have damages lungs
who am I to talk when witnessing the ****** of a people?
That demands to be free of Israeli tyranny.
But deep in my heart if I were hungry enough, I would
have killed that rabbit taken it home and cooked it.
So what this makes me? A sentimental fool crying
over spilt life? Deaths for a higher political cause
like stealing land from the losers.

REJUVENATING

Suddenly stopped has the crazy rat race;

Slowed down tremendously has our pace

Our Earth is rejuvenating, its interior n surface.

Braked at last has that power-crazy creature,  in the race .

Considerably reduce must have in the air,  CO2's trace.

Nature is rejuvenating our worn out Earth's face.

Armin Dutia Motashaw