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the following title of one well-known author seemed much more applicable (a tadpole or pollywog about six months to the day back into 2017) when our housing search ramped up my anxiety as the prospect to become loomed large, the intercession of a benign force - or verily random chance events sidestepped that fate worse than death. though the harbinger of skidrow appeared as a done deal more than half a journey round the sun, this body electric can still recollect his anguish.
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Well there’s Hooverville on the edge of the river
haint nuttin boot flimsy cardboard
e’en with clothes will shiver
waiting for the tension to be released
like an arrow in a taut quiver
major organs ready to burst open cuz day r all a failin
unless salvation does da liver
from a stingy farmer nada one of him a giver
Hence a goin to Cali for n’ya
in battered up truck n wailin wah wah
ta feed da chill n beasts o burr den – ‘cept un shaw
if me pa will ever appear on Oprah
whar guest’s literary car – rears into grand Prix hoopla
An win free dim lifts us lock a hawk, this kid rock will nah
dat he suffered faw a distant few cha
migrants we may be – butta we bah
dog on judas priest, Christ, and Allah
Rose of Sharon wool extend da family tree
dat ma will live to see
re:
charging the Joad jalopy in part from me
tink rin hands dat like ta mess with oil hand stains
one mo scar – craning neck 2 earn
A notha red badge of courage upon this Okie
hunched o’er with stiff back while wounded knee
continually bunged up with utter glee
at engine cough fin smoke to git us free
whar we kin sally in da Pacific fields yip eee.
