deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Dust Bowl*

(Wait, wait, wait now…Listening to Coven - Blue Blue Ships that’s that blue eyed soul; haven’t heard this in ages, go head now)    
      
There are      
More individuals now competing      
For a shrinking piece of the      
US social pie in the sky like      
Sovereign lands      
Once affixed to ideals      
Now breaking into businesses-with the        
Universe      
Doing the accounting      
For souls lounging: in a  
Modern      
Dust bowl subject to        
Retrace history      
Making disbelievers      
Feel what’s already been      
Detailed in bold print      
Figures assuming the      
Position: already      
Making their way back into      
The census bureaus:      
Chomping down on      
Both the sweep;      
Economies        
And environments of      
People:      
Ships        
Stopping off the      
Seaboard: Eastern      
Great plains far less        
Fertile      
Top soil 6 ft deep      
Employed by some odd      
4 or 5 generations:      
Farmers      
Dried up by the sun’s        
Cataclysm: a      
Monster; the species      
Rampant      
Tearing across        
Prairies        
Extracting their new names and      
Their new meaning in it’s      
Wake      
Iotas of grain on        
Borrowed      
Syntax      
Arranging: Fashioning      
Themselves      
Some formal      
Propositioning:      
Calculi-Properties      
Forming      
Constituents for me to      
Feed from like      
Ecological legacy      
Less wheat        
Reverberation      
More power-      
Static electricity        
Jolting parts of us      
Along      
Some purple graph      
Plotting their…      
Exactions, casualties          
With the        
Binary point carrying the weight:      
Left      
20, 21, 22      
Right      
2-1, 2-2, 2-3      
And so forth…      
Yet to bestow the      
Loving eyes      
To their rightful owners      
Trees: pendent; pensile      
Drooping: languid      
Nothingness to      
Yield or uncover: adjacent      
Ropes tied by      
Barns      
Of bodies cut open      
Cut open.      
Full of sand      
Farming without anything      
Hearty to long for      
Without any        
Possibility-      
Identities lost      
Appalachia, for one,      
Left over      
Chain or string….      
Full spectrum of      
Consequences ie      
Forget me nots      
Yet to wrap themselves      
Around the mind in a        
Retrievable, definitive order      
Despair moving quickly on the      
Foothills: my paper      
Lost by the crops      
Reenacting this      
Dreaming        
Awaken state-      
With pen and paper      
Simply      
“Whistling past the graveyard”      
An immaculate grass:      
Contrasted some courtesy of      
Survival-a      
Heartbeat      
Away.      
Written by Nari (Laura Jean)
Published | Edited 31st Dec 2018
Author's Note
Reference

https://livinghistoryfarm.org/farminginthe30s/water_02.html
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