June 20, 2020

That day, we found a motorcycle.
It was red still, and not the rusted
Kind but true, of another decade.

That day, we found a spear of prairie
Grass. It pierced the heart of the machine
Where it lay long broken on the rim.

And instead of hot oil blood,
There ran the thinnest stream of water
Down the ravine. It pooled in our steps

And, meeting the pond, whispered our names.

poem

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quote / welp Sometimes I think about these lines from Richard Hofstadter’s the paranoid style in american politics: However, in a populistic culture like ours,

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loopholes S. 4085 [116th Congress] I read Senator Joni Ernst’s Ending Taxpayer Funding of Anarchy Act, mostly because the title made me lol, and because I try