Marie @naugeleh@notvery.social

A co-worker and I were commiserating about backlog and how easy it is to fall into doing only what's hot.

My brain says:
"This is why, this is why, this is why I'm hot!
I'm hot cause I'm Now. You ain't cause you're not..."

I hear a snuffling in the thickets
burning hell-fire eyes open
an iron ship
on a sea of blood casts off
the Halloween that
children never see
is ushered in

The porch lights go out
last straggling monsters
make their way home
hot water and soap
have brought my son
back to life
candy stashed away
little ghosts all inside now
something else begins to move
the leaves lay down
their royal carpet
first winters wood smoke
on the air
the wind entrances
the trees
a soft Bradbury whispers
a low Poe knocking
the jack-o-lanterns
start their secret caucus

I still hear a hundred rifles
I still see dead buffaloes
hung farmers
poisoned wells
amputated confederate soldiers
shocked mute doughboys
a burnt shadow
a smothered child
there must be blood beneath these stones
skeletons buried with satchels full of notes
that tells the tale
of a citys secrets
of a poem of ghosts
each haunting their stories
each guarding their secrets
till blood seems to well up around my ankles
and I wonder what lies beneath my floorboards

in plain sight
like the skin of trees
which saw all the things done
but do not tell
houses built on graves
imbeciles locked in basements
or attics
yesterdays sins quickly forgotten
for todays drama
the graveyard speaks half the tale
birth death
good father
good mother
beloved son
daughter
but I can still smell blood in this

the empty homes
the burnt out storefronts
the murdered hobos
the empty grinning train yard
there must be blood here
blood beneath the highways
blood under airports
blood under shopping centers
blood in the food
in the water
in the air
it seems everywhere
all the forgotten sins
all the half-remembered secrets
warehouses now museums
mansions now museums
the unused top floor of downtown shops
filled with records
with receipts
with pictures
all hidden
all stored away

There must be blood
beneath these stones
there must be skeletons buried deep
this whole town seems to hold secrets
the paranoia runs rich
the fear runs poor
is this a church
or the old gallows
is this a restaurant
or where people used to live
did they even move the old cemetery
when they made the lake
or say hell just a bunch of dead black folk
there must be blood beneath these stones
you can smell it
if you take a deep breath

hung farmers
poisoned wells
amputated confederate soldiers
shocked mute doughboys
a burnt shadow
a smothered child
there must be blood beneath these stones
skeletons buried with satchels full of notes
that tells the tale
of a citys secrets
of a poem of ghosts
each haunting their stories
each guarding their secrets
till blood seems to well up around my ankles
and I wonder what lies beneath my floorboards

with pictures
all hidden
all stored away
in plain sight
like the skin of trees
which saw all the things done
but do not tell
houses built on graves
imbeciles locked in basements
or attics
yesterdays sins quickly forgotten
for todays drama
the graveyard speaks half the tale
birth death
good father
good mother
beloved son
daughter
but I can still smell blood in this
I still hear a hundred rifles
I still see dead buffaloes

you can smell it
if you take a deep breath
the empty homes
the burnt out storefronts
the murdered hobos
the empty grinning train yard
there must be blood here
blood beneath the highways
blood under airports
blood under shopping centers
blood in the food
in the water
in the air
it seems everywhere
all the forgotten sins
all the half-remembered secrets
warehouses now museums
mansions now museums
the unused top floor of downtown shops
filled with records
with receipts

There must be blood
beneath these stones
there must be skeletons buried deep
this whole town seems to hold secrets
the paranoia runs rich
the fear runs poor
is this a church
or the old gallows
is this a restaurant
or where people used to live
did they even move the old cemetery
when they made the lake
or say hell just a bunch of dead black folk
there must be blood beneath these stones

The best thing I've heard on the radio in a while is Lin-Manuel Miranda and a bunch of other Broadway people in 21 Chump Street, a story of undercover police posing as high school kids to find drug dealers. You can watch just this at https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=ELBGa6-uOhc, or the cast album and the whole show are available at https://www.thisamericanlife.org.

After one of our favorite Indian restaurants (in a Krishna Temple) closed for the night, a new friends entered the dining room.

Flood weather.
The walking path along the Trinity river slopes down into the brown water.
On the first section that's underwater, three herons gaze into the water waiting for a meal to swim by.
#smallstories

Boost at will: Free #HRT opportunity for those planning to start who are willing to be in a study. One of my friends knows her, and the phone number looks right. Pardon the fb link, but it has contact for her. If you want deets without FB, I'm happy to provide.
https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=10156749390291170&id=166262086169