and like colonialism you crossed onto my ground and ruined the earth beneath you.
what foul lakes and trees and miserable forms of life we will all find from here on.
I took a look inside and found few of what was and tried to find all the roads endings
and their intersections but after it rained the past three seasons and im not sure what
happened; they’re probably all gone.
the work is hard
my wrinkles run deep
i can stay quite sane
on such little sleep
obdurare, briefly (a draft)
from a low point in the city
the drum beats steady in the hills
(while the bulls run,
while the birds soar);
one
two
three
four
i fan the flames of my war,
roar on, roar on, roar on
