Dakota 2011

There is a little red flag
hanging from my dirty screen door.
When the water went down
the FEMA man said
I couldn't stay anymore.

I'm turning lights out
as I light out it seems
to the never promised land;
of broken American dreams.

The creaking slamming door
of a rundown camper
defies my thoughts and musings;
smiles and sun to hamper.

I arrived at this dream
before I awoke yesterday in this land
of too many tomorrows;
kindness destroyed by a shaking hand.

We saw the water coming down rivers,
over earthen berms and dikes
and through the city streets.
A rain hammer doesn't care what it strikes.

Flood predictions came and went.
The final bell tolled as the gavel rang down
and still more water rolled in,
surely the city would drown,
"...dead...yes dead...and it shall be not proud..."

There is a little red flag
hanging from my dirty screen door.
When the water went down
the FEMA man said
I couldn't stay anymore.

I'm turning lights out
as I light out it seems
to the never promised land;
another broken American dream.

Kimi told me to try
sitting with bare feet in sand
drinking wine and watching the moon
painting oceans and land.

While children sleep dreamlessly
in the peaceful breeze of the cooling night,
we plot survival and salvation
bathed in a painted Dakota twilight.

Remember when we let
our mind wander to the places
Faulkner and Hemingway drove us
with smiles on their faces.

Some concepts can only be felt on nights like this;
back sore from removing drywall
and tearing out floor joists,
fearful of winter's early fall.

There is a little red flag
hanging from my dirty screen door.
When the water went down
the FEMA man said
I couldn't stay anymore.

I'm turning lights out
as I light out it seems
to the never promised land;
another broken American dream.