The General Specific...

That's a good song... but this isn't about it.

Cather Chronicle II

The current state weighs
on me like the thunderous
calm of 100 larks. This
ambivalence isn't new to
me; it lingers between
the hollow purples and
grays of the evening west.
My affection for this
land of soil and sand and
cisterns seers the moistness
of my heart. Just as my
frustration for this home
of intolerance and ignorance
and idealism burrows through
the catacombs of my mind.

I love this state, my
state, with a reckless,
painful abandon. A
feeling strong enough to
move millions to action,
inaction, one in the same.
Needless efficacy, brazened
rapture, all sent kicking
and singing though a
thoroughfare entrenched.
These bring me back to
the pale tans and grizzle
of adjacent corn fields and
pine trees, spending months
amid the two.

We weren't meant for this
land of endless sky and
evasive sinew, nor was it
meant for us. But here we
are on the brink of
affection, and I've missed
my chance of leaving, and
you've missed the feeling
of the eastern wind and
foot after foot of dry
prairie grass. This weight
can wait while we allow
our codependence a chance.