Cole Severns

He appeared from the rolling hills of the countryside.
Among the maples, cedars, cottonwoods.
The deep thuds of pumping oil wells.
...

Still beating.
Pumping oxygen.
Reptilian brain.
...

Rejection.
Burned deep into my insides.
Obscured by a thin veil.
Fleeting hope's eternal torture.
...

Vegetation sprouting lush through the by-gone reprise of inconsistencies between neglect and obsession.

The indifferent infatuation that forced out the brilliance of a captive movement.
Muffled by the flotsam and jetsam of deafening cries for attention and disruption.
...

Futility.
The negotiations between future and past have reached stalemate.
No hope of reconciliation.
...

Desperate yearning.
Saturated in hopeful delusions.
Spawned by the invisible toiling efforts of superego preservation.
...

Shackles of the status quo's bondage to the metric ton of neatly
alphabetized and color-coded subgenres.
Serving to feed the motivations of inspirational status seekers. Driven by the self-serving hidden agendas of monetary and emotional greed.
...

Blind wanderer deep in foul territory.
The hazardous lonesome desire.
Seeking the reciprocal.
Satisfaction of a basic need.
...

Sharpened axe.
Vast and immense piles of damage.
Wasted, man-made objects of a previous cause kept us trapped in this dungeon of good intentions.
Weakened by the force of it's overbearing weight.
...