07-01-2022, 04:27 AM
I feel like an alien walking around the blistering hot landscape. Even the grass is gone from the trucks around the area digging with their tires and the machines throwing sawdust from the shredding trees. Yellow is laid down to grow more grass in some of those places and the yellow burns the eyes in the sun. Heat and no shade. And bright yellow and dry dirt. Yellow of the sun too close to home for comfort.
And the above poem, I trope in my world with the last scene of the 1970s The Man Who Fell To Earth, one of the last lines being Oh. And the music Artie, not Archie, Shaw, not straw.
And the above poem, I trope in my world with the last scene of the 1970s The Man Who Fell To Earth, one of the last lines being Oh. And the music Artie, not Archie, Shaw, not straw.