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Paying guesses (a poem)


crooked bush saskatchewan3

A crooked lady lived in a crooked house

in a crooked land

among those hills lay towns

where good money was paid

for the graces, ticking days, living flesh of inmates

in this land, the dead were sold for profit

and the souls of the poor and neglected

did not matter

disposable crooked almost zombies

haunted the streets of this land

struggling to get by

never encouraged to reach up and into their own depths

an endless feeding tube they were

tattered flesh fed to the already fattened cats

perched high in the mountains

transported by glistening vehicles

to creamy and mouthwatering mansions

where do the free belong?

must I hide my dreams from the crook in my spine?

who is stealing opportunity instead of expanding

or seeing potential in every face born from darkness into earthly light?

a land among lands torn

manufacturing suffering

from a brain spewing endless not enough messages

while an abundant garden of wide-eyed children look on

minds lulled by the speeding and chaotic pictures

that take away their best self

to beyond the veils of never-never land

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