It’s getting hard,  For real now.  You know that- What? Right?   She wants to paint you,  Her decalcomania,  Colors bleeding like tears.  You know that- Why? Right?  A flood’s coming soon,  Dark water rising,   Choking her whispered fears.  You know that- Where? Right?  Save her, please,  Before she sinks,   Drowning

On the edge of a fading shore where the words were heard no more  they searched for it, and there it lay trapped in ink, that vanishing rhyme.  Their tongue still stirred to speak familiar, they tried just lasting two seconds they said the elders knew it well  so far

I am a Ghost Whose tribe has been Slaughtered Our language and way deemed savage. Hatred and anger From a society built on Bloodied lands Stolen from brown Native hands Painful past His-story and her-story Taints future Generations.

My story is breadcrumbs Sprinkled about a rocky trail  Down cliffs Over rivers That rushed, and washed away the bank Born to a mother whose grip was forced  Loose by powder  The same powder that lingers in my veins Laces my bones in a bow Forever tight This small child 

I don’t want to be a clean environment I want to be poisoned  I want to rot For holes tear through my atmosphere  For my woodlands to burn  For my rivers to turn sludge For my creatures to beg a god for the Reason of this ill  My ill is

night blue plastic truck we sing Saturn’s rings to pieces in the  shower I was whole let me tell you of a time I drank the world until I lost hold of the ground until I became a wintered kite with no tether and all the  weather broke us down can’t you