sioux falls. 1956.

this could be sioux falls, 1956 with seperate bathrooms. fountains.
bus stops. ideals. there are thin dogs meandering in thin streets
littered with the stench of bust gone wrong. there is no money here,
just the lonely visage of knowing that when the dust starts to blow,
there is no shelter aside from the steeled sky that whips it bloody.
but this isn't sioux falls, 1956. this is america the defeated.
america the indefinite. america the indignant. there is no begging.
there is only the remaining crossroads of synapses spent and
discarded. and there is a satisfaction in this hallowed place of boom
of long ago...coal and blue eyes and sandstone exchanges where vets
find refuge from the stress their bones bear. they know that this is
their country. their land. their soul ...and expectations. it grinds
them to see what's become of this weathered moral lanscape of hate and
hype. 'i died for this?' you cant begin to fathom the ache. ' this is
what i sacrifice to?' nausea grips your bowels. 'this is my legacy?' i
would love to tell him, to love him, to comfort him. but i cant. the
only comfort found is the telecasts of prefunction and pomp. knowing
the november may come without us. but there will always be a winter.