Apocapus

The buffalo! It's mighty legs so lurch and slow. O' weaving through the brush a vast, nourishment upon the grass, slowly wadding, calf/feet deep, a lullaby echoed to sleep. An arrow or a sword, the land asunder, ceased it's norm. The overrun, the stampede, the flood of gold-hungry, mining greed erasing, deleting, expunging the land, *of what was lush and fertile, to fields of sand. A low moan from the past, echoes vast, echoes forth into the last, ear forgotten, roaming bison, roaming herds, moaning long forgotten words. Vacant air of silt and sand, was where they buried mom and dad.

Dream, for I am waking yet not awake sleeping, wishing, ...and wondering where the day shall take me should I lurch my feet forward in search for breath. ...My eyes pried wide, between what is and isn't a dream I've never had. Crimson reflections laid in bricks, dance a yellow dance, as fires roar to keep me warm. My feet lurching forward, my heart laborious and beating, my tired lurching feet are stinging, wishing for a dream creeping forward into sleep wherever gravity will take me.

Everything stays *the same, ...everything stays the same. Fire rains up out of the clouds but everything stays the same. I took to living in a cave, to escape the ever painful rays but low-behold the others stayed, *amazed by pretty colors* The lakes dried up ...and foliage died, but everything stays the same. The animal *graves are piling up, but everything stays the same. I took to refuge on a hill, the massive flood, my family killed but low-behold the others still, stare blankly at the sky. *Enjoying the pretty clouds* The radiation levels rise, but everything stays the same. The oceans lurch, as black as coal but everything stays

To the heart, lest forsaken-- taken to, taken to; ...the forest; dragged in earnest, awakened; sunburned through. The echo's volley empty; the wind is silent mute, and foggy is the vision that hampers the pursuit. The heart, it beats much slower-- it's rhythm winding down ...and here comes dream reality to ring the final bell round.

What are you person? *lad or man* sympathy clad, you've never had, swam a thousand channels into the edge of Cispa's sand, your apathy twas your end. Let us recount those vital days, when your identity was *no more* a game, and the fires deep inside you burned three hundred nights/days, straight; Remember those days, as your monitor weeps battery acid and combusts to splinters 'pon your floor. You'd had a chance to save your voice *so sore* before; your vocal chords shriveled and died, your; persona blind, rotted and crumbled into the recesses of your heart, where the tears you'd never cried, now lay buried besides your hopes and dreams. Y

1. Arkansas painted black and wilting pavement why? Exxon diarrhea. 2. I spy cows wounded as the badge of law appears my camera in pieces 3. My keyboard smells death my monitor trembles fearing censorship came back.

The fire, ...lead me to the fire,              help me up                   and split my skin                             to tear me up into the fire,     into the fire          my skin shall peel,                   my heart shall suffer                               and my dreams will perish in the fire, where I'm imprisoned for my filming of the beak-less bird.