A Feud to Carry Vol. 2, 2.5.24
“Revolution"
What’s the use of working, to eat with silvered spoon
All week, all day?
Barely even able to pay
For food, for rent, for friends, for fun
All the while struggling to profit someone
Else
Often – I wonder how evolved we have become
Taking the joy of making art
To a mechanized stolen heart
How weary will I be when workday’s end
Looking at letters, messages of love to send
Elsewhere
I drive past prairies, and watch films of travelers
Never to wander in my own neighborhood
Nowadays more like a strangerhood
How long can these coals burn?
When such little for this heat is there to earn
Erstwhile
Why should I bother with futures?
I work all day, sleep all night
Struggle to keep the heat and light
Surrounded by books
Figures and nicknacks in nooks
Estimates
Never will I own my life now
The business bean counters will sell it as a service
Depreciated down so as to not miss
A single update
Buggy, slogged, and late
Else I will fizzle out as a sparkler, celebrating the freedom of this great nation
@env0writes C.Buck
Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0
Support Your Local Artist!
Photo by @mynamemeanscloud
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Valley Gothic
You are never too far from the mountains. You can seen them on the horizon as you drive, never look too long. They might see you, and they do not like to be watched.
The neighbors’ house lays dormant, the squatters left a while ago. But something is there. Just don’t stare too long at the windows, even if you see the boards move.
There are days where the smoke covers everything. The burning smell follows you to work, to school, to the store. There is no escaping the smog, no matter how far you run.
The rain never stays long. But when it does, savor it. The mud smears across your shoes, and you don’t clean it off. Even if it gets everywhere and the streets flood, never clean off the stains.
As you lay awake in your bed, you can hear the chugging of a train, and the whistle. There are no train tracks near your home, but one never is to far away.
The neighbors set off illegal fire works, it’s not anywhere close to the Fourth of July, but it’s now normal. Just don’t question why you haven’t seen your neighbors in what seems like years.
There are palm trees everywhere. Lined against the street, on lawns and in backyards. They aren’t supposed to be here. It’s wrong.
Wrong
Wrong
Wrong
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Idle Steps 3.25.24
“Stormclouds"
Clouds used to mean
“I love you”
Floating by
As lovers do
With laze, amaze, and heart-beat rush
They herald in the storm
The strike the light
A flash
A fight
They called for something more
So west I chased
Towards those gales
Those tales that fill the manifest
I sought,
I thought
The place of storm
Instead I find the bedlam warm
Where clouds don’t say,
“I love you”
They barely whisper too
The fog is slow
The storms don’t show
How is this land from whence it blows?
Where is my rolling thunder?
Heart break and blunders
Bus stop blues
And meadowed melody cues
Where is the flash in the pan
The matchstrike desire
Down the highway sidelined telephone wires
When will a storm scream,
“I love you”
And faster than, light
Me on fire
@env0writes C.Buck
Ko-Fi & Venmo: @Zenv0
Support Your Local Artist!
Photo by @env0
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