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Hydraulic mechanics into my brain drums,
the high-pressured nitrogen seeping
the strata,
chem,
chem,
the chemicals,
did we stop the fracking?

Totally deprived and limited
to black, white, and red,
tar, water, and blood —-
the extractification of the brain drums.

I was blank with this
antieco serum of super-sized tulips and
corn-fed cow fat,
gathering the paces of
that egotistical wildcat,
swagger of the Good Book,
bold in a ground spotlight,
what was this free assignment
in my St. Tammany Parish?

The Lights came out the darkness,
some might be scared,
yet that protractor burned
shining like a bright bitch
in the sky.

Where was the fracking?
The global death of agenda to fun?
St. Tammany released her colors.
Consumed in harmony, spirit,
art, nature, and desire.

(This is not best or favorite work, but I found it appropriate to share because of the current events lately.)

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