send more snow

The powder was falling, through the last few nights, we shoveled our driveways and canceled our flights. Today is a fest-day, send down from above, to ridicule singles but celebrate love. Our coffers are empty, our hearts they do soar, so finsih your sweeping then mop up the floor.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on winter champions

Their eyes wide with wonder, their hearts set to boil, the best of us humans invade Russian soil. To Sochi they wander, to that sunny place, where they shall contend and break records and race. To heights they aspire, to summits they reach, surrounded by coaches and well-wishers each. The only true winners, are they who compete, who sacrifice childhood and friendship and love, who stand up and go forth and perform great feats, who lace up the footwear and helmet and glove. They're maniacs, winners, and champions all, we watch them white-knuckled, excited, enthralled, we cheer and clap for them as much as we can, they are our magnificent Olympians.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

fields often plowed

The plowshares are running, the seed gets put in, it's not up to humans to determine when, the efforts repeated in warm darkened rooms, should finally start bearing fruit in the wombs. The people are trying, they're giving their best, they're swallowing boosters and waiting for crests, they've squabbled and argued and shouted out blame, they've made up and tried it again and again. They stick to the standard, the one we all know: Quick to spit and raw of hide, cut the shit and come inside.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

discing on codorus lake, 8FEB2014

shalk of wame

Her outfit is shabby her coiffure is lame, by golly this might be her first shalk of wame. Come here to the window the view is just fine, her gait might be sloppy but she's making time. Rush hither my girlies and look at this whore, who foully dishonors our late father's door. Let's rush her and pull out her sex-knotted hair, we'll pounce when she reaches the harbor-side stair. Be quiet, you monster, and come back to play, it's not ours to punish that young girl today, the gods say we dare not to hinder her way. Return to the circle or I'll make you lame, you leave her alone on her grand shalk of wame.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on choosing names

Call it Pahá Sápa and not Mt. Rushmore, one's rooted in treason the other in lore. Lakota face challenges, they are kept poor, by agent, bartender, casino, and whore. The Black Hills lie battered and bruised and attacked, by well-heads and toxins and roughnecks who frack. Another example – to some it is new – is the reddish monolith called Uluru; its boundaries ruptured, its children turned out, by criminal, rapist, backstabber, and lout; its treasure-troves plundered, its forests torn down, where once were found healing herbs now grows a town. These places are magic, we must keep them so, their import and mystery constantly grow, their outlines and boundaries more maps must show, their wonder and majesty mankind should know. So next time a liar spins yarns without shame, repeat and remember these true ancient names. Huzzah.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

on trashing seats

First the big one, then its mate, passed on through the iron gate and – poof – was merely litter. Now the broken, now the weak, the lame and worn-out, dusty thing, chucked, discarded, thrown away, its worth not real but token. Over railing, down it goes, through the trodden, spoiled snows, there to lie for two more weeks, the house is spacious, wide, and open. Dad he said to do this deed: Let us toss this worthless crap; solemnly we bid adieu, have a beer and take a nap.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥