I’ll take a couple minutes,
if you think that you can spare a few
I’ll try to mask my bitterness
Like wild Berry theraflu
Sometimes I find things bearable,
I really do
Sometimes I’m marigolds and baby blue
Sometimes I make it twenty minutes
Without thinking to myself
how Those who chose to starve you
Will not take the time to stay and bury you
No chariots will carry you
To Arlington or Xanadu
Or lay you in the vacant space
that’s 6 beneath your panic room
This one’s for the native graves
on which we laid some tanning booths
That closed within a year,
and changed to Mom & Pop Italian Food
that got pushed out for Pizza Hut,
which got shut down for safety codes,
and, in the end, the building was demolished
for the danger posed
Now there’s just an empty field,
where little vegetation grows,
where, now and then,
you’ll think you hear the wind,
when there’s no wind that blows
Maybe it’s the echo
of the laughter of the Natives,
When they see how we can’t feed ourselves,
or fashion our own winter clothes
Watching us, like human moths,
all drawn where e’er the ember goes
With all the sea a garbage heap,
and mountains stripped like centerfolds
Down beyond the crater,
where the river flows,
Polyfluoroalkyl Trout
are mating in the witches grove
Each are casting dirty glances
Third eyes, courtesy Monsanto,
Glaring at the only trout with two
who dared to interlope
Maybe that was truly thunder,
Humming through the stone below,
or native spirits laughing
with a cackle like a thunder bolt
That rendered, in one brilliant flash,
to shattered glass, this sundered gloam,
or maybe it’s the rumble
of a humbling karmic undertow
Maybe we’ve been swept away by titan waves,
with plastic foam
So, every day, we gasp and writhe,
our hopes alight with phosphorus glow
Gods, what awful prospect to restore this nation’s monstrous soul
And yet, the concept
is a constant threat
of promise kept
to bait the polls
and then they take the votes
as far from all us nosey proles
as they can coast
on half the worlds reserves of coal
Take the rest to go
and try to overdose before they hit poles
Crashed a global market,
Broke a couple bones
Made a couple buddies,
Faked a dozen loans
Torched a lotta farms,
I bet you never heard
Cops were being cops,
They said a couple words
Over in the vacant lot on 23rd,
Someone traced the pizza hut from memory
in the ash and dirt
As I stood and stared, I heard the wind,
and yet, no wind had stirred,
Still, I found myself concerned
that I might see the sketch disturbed
I sat within a booth
outlined upon the vacant earth
as one might touch the only stone
still standing in their place of birth
Sick for dumb nostalgia
which the truly branded yearn
The duo of Artist Named You and Sol Galeano present their debut together, a conceptual and adventurous modern R&B album. Bandcamp New & Notable Jul 26, 2022
Three renditions of “Snowflakes in July” explore all aspects of the song’s stunning beauty, including a mind-blowing 17-minute live version. Bandcamp New & Notable Aug 15, 2020