Bed And Breakfast
Stones in the bowl
breakfast of nails,
sun on the roof,
time off the rails.
Flies in the soup,
bright knife in the back;
you can sell your soul but
your bones turn black.
Dust for your tea,
tar sand in your bed;
it's too late now
to sleep or get fed.
~February 2014
55 dessicated environmental disasters for the g-man
(count includes title)
California is currently in a state of severe drought, something we dustbowl refugees can always relate to--there's a storm headed their way this weekend though, so hopefully things will turn out to be less grim than this poem, which reflects a larger state of dysfunction.
Image, Folsom Lake, by Associated Press, via Huffington Post
