“The spent blooms of lady’s mantle, not so great, anyway, we fret as to when to cut them. Bending over them for hours, there’s always more to learn about stems, leaves and the depths of our own patience. Who knew? It became a sour joke while married, who was the worse obfuscater. Seemed obvious to me. But in the kingdom of the civilized, righteous indignation belies each stab of the root knife. Take that, untruth! Now friends no longer steady, share realities that could not be farther apart. My rain soaked pants are none the wiser. I’ve seen the same dire outcomes, month upon month, yet been shamed into silence. And lying in the dirt where no algorithm can find me, I continue to think my subversive thoughts. That those in dreamy, walled compounds have but a little time left, before the angry & disenfranchised come to call. Every time you hear the grader chewing the road, or the quarry bell honk across the wide granite ledges, a few are still working because they still have jobs, but many are dropping through the cracks, losing their businesses, their farms, becoming disabled and isolated. Well, I understand the talk of guns and prayer. One might do well to gussy up a car with a roll bar, or sell everything for an RV. I met a lot of people this year when my old friends went into hiding. I had to force myself to talk & say the things imperative for my own survival. Because when you have no one to turn to, you still have to turn somewhere. And all the shame ever humped on you, you’ll gladly eat it, so that you can eat.”
