

Trees claw,/ Birds crow,/ Stuck in the mud -/I have to go.

They say she’s not quite right/ But they assume she’ll be okay/ And so they overlook her/ Day after day …

It has arisen, my dears, my children/ The war of a millennium years/ Blood of all are spilled throughout/ Filling the bare ground with a

Please tell me again why color dictates standards/ Didn’t y’all spend decades trying to reverse actions?

Top left, acutely American/ Going On the Road/ But finding only the Grapes of Wrath/ Pressed and fermented in my flask…

Any representation of an outcast/ is ammunition for the upper class…