On the plains of the city…
summer laid down its arms on the bones of beasts:
the hunters died with the death of the hunted
and livestock withered after the years of fallowness.
We fled from the lives we had, semi-human and
rattled as the last bison. The buffalo days returned.
The money-men cashed in and the plain-folks left
believing truth was a sanity worth scattering for,
half alive, driven and demonized in their millions.
© BH, 2023
summer laid down its arms on the bones of beasts:
the hunters died with the death of the hunted
and livestock withered after the years of fallowness.
We fled from the lives we had, semi-human and
rattled as the last bison. The buffalo days returned.
The money-men cashed in and the plain-folks left
believing truth was a sanity worth scattering for,
half alive, driven and demonized in their millions.
© BH, 2023
Another poem rendered in parts. For the illustration and also for the idea that each segment has a kind of stand-alone-ness.
Above all, it's a suite / poem about the madness and panic we've engendered in the world today. For all the good it does us.
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