BLOGPOST #18

July 5 2020

Endless plains of grass brushing my legs

Make America a land of stone and dust again

All the songs have  escaped 

Blood is the poor man’s  gold

The rivers flow with tar I travel west seeking a home where I myself  am free

I am a young man a boyfriend to myself

filled with hope riding on the back of a small dog

Your endless cycles  of land grabs and gagster, yogis bore me

I am hungry despite the dream