A flood a couple of years ago...finally finished |
There is a little red flag hanging from my dirty screen door. When the water went down the FEMA man said I couldn't stay anymore. I'm turning lights out as I light out it seems to the never promised land; of broken American dreams. The creaking slamming door of a rundown camper defies my thoughts and musings; smiles and sun to hamper. I arrived at this dream before I awoke yesterday in this land of too many tomorrows; kindness destroyed by a shaking hand. We saw the water coming down rivers, over earthen berms and dikes and through the city streets. A rain hammer doesn't care what it strikes. Flood predictions came and went. The final bell tolled as the gavel rang down and still more water rolled in, surely the city would drown, "...dead...yes dead...and it shall be not proud..." There is a little red flag hanging from my dirty screen door. When the water went down the FEMA man said I couldn't stay anymore. I'm turning lights out as I light out it seems to the never promised land; another broken American dream. Kimi told me to try sitting with bare feet in sand drinking wine and watching the moon painting oceans and land. While children sleep dreamlessly in the peaceful breeze of the cooling night, we plot survival and salvation bathed in a painted Dakota twilight. Remember when we let our mind wander to the places Faulkner and Hemingway drove us with smiles on their faces. Some concepts can only be felt on nights like this; back sore from removing drywall and tearing out floor joists, fearful of winter's early fall. There is a little red flag hanging from my dirty screen door. When the water went down the FEMA man said I couldn't stay anymore. I'm turning lights out as I light out it seems to the never promised land; another broken American dream. |