Thistle, Utah

If you ride the Zephyr or US-6 you can see my body in the mud where God buried me in my sleep, never saw her coming, though after the first men moved me to removal I should’ve known I angered the gods, should’ve made peace with the storms. They warned me once we settled down that short-term fixes are like marriage beds of scotch tape, ’cause she got that wind in her sails; Olivia bows to no man’s body. She broke me like the spur-line, metal cracks under her heel. I felt the rain she brought, and I lost my home. Keep excavating, keep seeking reparations, the state can’t help your hearth underground. We lived like it was every wonder we woke up after that. Keep your coal, I got gold lining out west, bring my body back to Nauvoo when we are done, it’d like to see the safety someday. Now I’m visible from truck stops and passenger cars, what a life I lead.

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