020814
—
When snow falls hard in the heart of darkness
we have the option, for a time, to forget
about all the pavement lying underneath, and
the wild magic of this ex-urban landscape
seems, for a spell, impenetrably deep
until the melt, water theft and toxic flood, when
the ill taste of development pattern-induced drought
and death unrests itself on my tongue. Still fermentation
turns every civi back to the dirt from where it comes
including institution and machinery, in a process
i feel as necessary to the end, and anything but sweet
toward a life worth living and dying free
temporary, and complete. Choose wisely. Savage
clockwork consumes our laboring captivity, if we
decide to stay this way, the same fate to our progeny.