Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋

Equal To Dead

Equal To Dead

The brittle grass is too hot for my feet.
I fear the dusty soil where ants have overcome.
The sun hasn't been a friend to my yard.
I don't take time to check in every day.
What does the world want from me, this
barefoot wanderer who seeks a garden to roam?

For just a moment alone at this busy intersection,
where I can hide like a child in bushes sought,
these invading words pursue a once gentle mind
not capable of bending more; travels to places
away from chaotic billboards of cancel culture
bleeding evident truths I can no longer consume.

When did we become so truthful within folklore --
jolly fat men and bunnies toting chicken's eggs --
find nostalgia of some utopia underground, be
lei'd upon solemn arrival to atrophy before frost?
Where can I go to get away from you, who
needs my (worthless) vote this and every fall?

The elections I have to choose from in my head
make me wish for an alternative equal to dead.



8.16.20

Cancel culture is singular in nature. It does not consider references to from things born from the past that do not mesh with the present law of eradicate everything that does not belong, starting with people over 30, hwo don't buy in.