powers-truth

December 21, 2024

Somewhere in all these boundless, compounding, swelling canyons of imprinted paper, encoded in the millions of tons of loblolly pine fiber, there must be a few words of truth, a page, a paragraph that could break the spell of fulfillment and bring back danger, need, and death.

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Thought:

“A piece of the action is all I’m askin’
Everything broke down into fractions
The fire long dead, this just smoke and ashes
Hope is an assassin, fear fill up the casket
One day I woke up, everything was made of plastic
“She loves me not” is where we landed
When the music stops, folks start looking for answers”

billy woods | “Artichoke”

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