Dustbowl
they sent me notice, I could not help but give ear to such roar: - the sandstorm’s coming! it can’t be helped, it will engulf us all.
in which suspicous despair they left me behind, such cries: – come, follow! leave behind, none is worth such desolation. take yourself some other scenery, less plagued, less buried in dirt.
I then pondered, how can one tell which fate is left or not to be? for that whose path is set to cross such damage, what damage isn’t left and certain at any street? I shall cast my die on other planes but what is there that can’t be maimed? be it water, be it dust, be it wind. we stand in face of all danger if we are to stand, no hole, cave or roof will sustain.
wind will blow your doors open, water will cave into your ceilings. I then began to hope for such storm, I then began to build my walls on top of walls hidden under such grains. I carved my bed onto it’s dunes, I molded chairs on handfuls upon handfuls of such sand.
I need no roof, i let it find it’s way into my mouth, the raspy feel upon my tongue, the grating at the roof of my mouth. I’ve let if fill the inside of my ears and silence away every sound. and against my skin, the rash and burning texture, as it grew thicker and thicker and thicker and all had such pleasure in murmuring constantly: – there she goes, one born with a skin too few – if they only knew, by standing my ground, how it became, a skin too many.
