Trust and believe, the total and complete –
lack of any kind of silver lining,
in the fuck-of-a-mess that’s buried me,
is hardly lost on the cost of things;
it’s a game that runs perpetually –
it’s a death march to most certain defeat,
a defeat that will find me, inevitably;
a Speed Metal drummer keeps beat, accordingly,
that hammers my chest with anxiety,
welds to the ankle bones of both my tired feet:
anchors that will sink the likes of me quickly,
kicking and screaming until I’m sleeping peacefully,
a slow-motion fall to the trench of the sea –
like a feather pushed out of a high-speed Jet-stream,
like a bowed ballerina after tip-toed dancing,
a deep, dark blue silence that calls me from deep;
faces of creatures swim in, brimmed with curiosity,
to glimpse the resistance of my sinking body,
to the darkness of what’s unknown to me;
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There’s a reason why Trump’s not welcome here in the wake of such a deadly, longstanding tragedy;
There’s a reason why I want to spit on the people here in the South Bay for wearing face masks, as if we have heavy smoke or bad air quality, in comparison to our northernmost counterparts.
There’s a reason why the death toll continues to rise even so long after the fact when we finally have the fire at 98% containment.
In loving and hopeful memory of Paradise and Magalia, California: two of the formerly best places to camp with friends and family, hide from the law, grow large scale killer weed, or just relax in the buttes.
He’s currently mad at me for squeezing that gunk down his spine to keep him flea & tick free.