href=”https://pndrgn.files.wordpress.com/2014/07/20140718-000403-243689.jpg”>20140718-000403-243689.jpg

I went out for a walk
even here, 1 of 1012
Imbalance bleeds
across mountain landscapes.

The ash trees weep leaves.
shiver whispering stories
of boring insects
quoting passages
from The falling of the Elms.

They told me to exercise
steeped in anxiety
I nervously check and recheck
The beds of my fingernails
for signs of Anoxia.

Somewhere those, arguably leaders,
argue in endless debate
to pinpoint possibilities, probabilities consequences, and culpability.

Partisans soothe constituents,
sue opponents, accept contributions;
avoiding the indelicacy of proposing solutions, and associated implications
of chaos.

August approaches echoing
the poorer citizens of Detroit
their dreams filled with lost water.
unable to drink, flush or wash
their dishes or children.

The poets debate: stylistic grace
Perfect blending of historical and contemporary style, the balance
of intellect, stigma of emotion,
Prosody, symmetry, relevance
To history.

California is turning to dust, leaving
real estate seemingly unaffected.
The Rio Grande now ends
before it reaches its own Delta.
Runnels in hard mud mark
It’s absence.

I turn and walking home notice
The sky and I together forever
are blue.

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