red clay soil, smokies foothills
boone and company not daniel,
three twenty-one off forty
past the tobacco fields and farms
ramblers galore with banjos
guitars and harpsicords...
bluegrass in the veins not
kentucky bound any longer.
music played from memories
lyrics of lost love written down,
southern boy ventures north
leaves behind his hospitality,
soul and rap filter hateful words
bound for all pale whites and
those uncles who pretend to be,
intermarriage in commercials
depicts the wholesome family,
motown runs on fumes imported
from abroad - helping economies
often forgetting their origins...
peace deals on the table - faked
and full of loopholes, save the
masks we wore for covid on its
five-year anniversary - a time
for celebrating the love of family.
disciples of the cross become its
prisoners as faith wraps it boney
hands around our necks - wishing
for afterlife sooner than later...
music bends the knee to death
death kowtows to the census,
we write songs to express feelings
not really understanding meanings
or the psychology behind it all.
July 16, 2025
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