Oil And Dust Poem by Shannon Walker

Is this iconic?
Charcoal on paper,
Dusty black pump-jacks,
And a sky
Like sandpaper
Above flaring smokestacks,
And dragonflies.
Less is more, I guess.
Every well's a culdesac,
And here, there are no lies;
It's either failure or success,
Icicles clinging to your beard,
Or sand in your eyes.
The arctic is a game of chess,
And Summertime is only weird.
How did the bugs survive
The February stress?
The mosquitos disappeared;
It was minus 45,
And now they're back.