DISTRICT III ~ FRODO in SOUTHERN SUMMER

…to pluck, till time and times are done,
the silver apples of the moon,
the golden apples of the sun 

~ William Butler Yeats 

Everything goes kind of strange after a while in a New World tongue 
Frodo does not understand, still I observe that he is playing his folk music 
at Durango Joe’s—this thespian holds the gift of fire with his rebel force of will 
even as World Colony of corruption unfolds.

Leaving the Durango, Frodo steps onto Colony Road tripping over its woody stems
better for a fire than growing a forest—more like tiger tripods with their dog-like fangs
and at the beginning, here is a dry fire when rebellion intertwines with the compliant ones
and the pebbles are rounded by river rapids, now blackened, burned-out valley
and at the top of the pile is the Black Dog. 

So shadowed is Frodo by that rock face, that persists in eroding the harmonious ways 
of Peninsula Dwellers it seems as though New World is set to conquer Earth 
shifting the ecosystem into a tunnel of black death which sucks the oxygen so that

Indigenous-dwelling Canary dies without iron-shelled New-World lungs and the marmalade and spice turns to clay, drying the southern flesh sheltering tantric bones of Eastern Sage.

Parched in perpetuation of the villain’s myth, such searing under the scorching sun 
so they dome the Colonial group into a controlled harmony, such an evil facade 
and the identical People have tail-gate parties because that is what aggregates do
moving Innocents, Allies and Rebel-thinkers aside as tiresome, trouble
if they hold too much passion for life, when resistant to indoctrination.

Frodo shivers in the nearness of Shadow from the Dark Side, which perpetuates 
World’s mechanical robotic images and the fragmented and wounded pieces 
of a People’s identity are put out to profit as rock peers and docks for the Titanic
so new World anemic people in their asphalt trance 
can arrive to populate and co-create within the Shadow of Black-dog.

Observe the Memes populating Earth enslaving Free-thinking Eco-Souls who speak their mind, or who cower, voiceless, as they step too close to fatigue the fire of injustice, and only burned their sinking hearts in embrowned air and on the bloody path, washed with the tears of the Weeping Ones of Free Earth —Frodo is now witness to the fettered human condition of embodied contradictions, so dire the lacking of integrity and courage to voice opposition.

Falling into a realm of shared ignorance and little wisdom, this duality of human nature
so messy in its half-truths, conveyed sour smiles speaking diversity of People
But then they turn their backs to those who once took shelter with the woodlands 
and wandered a fertile, now scorched, land, under grey, soulless cloud Everyman plunders
turning porpoise to ash and roots rotting in fetid contaminated brown-fields.

I listen to the Happiness Channel—the only channel— of anthropocentric Colony radio 
dial set to delude the Clones into sustaining the absurdity of unsustainable materialism
the Colony anthem cycles by a mechanical DJ that Frodo tunes out by playing his guitar louder, pruning the violent essence in the radio waves though still confined to a life under the menacing Shadow of Black-dog, Lord of the Flies.

The furies do so love this New World, knowing the injustices will be met with injustice, but later, below, and they lick their lips in delight as New World leaders preserve this dogma of a pathological mentality honouring material possessions and social status pushing hardened addictions, patenting the weak in shared ignorance with dead-hearted segregation 
and discrimination, with shameful borders.

I see those Contrived human names stuck in the land as if the hawks saw nations
not forests to care for their young, on this, our inherited Turtle Island where we have learned anosmia is better than to know putrid smell of decaying, fake roses levelling Frodo’s soul 
in Dead-universe, rid of eco-diversity and land rights, with World’s cannibalistic economy, enforced the people to accumulate more stuff, more power, more, more more!

Abandon all hope, you who enter here! in Neon Blazing indoctrination yet Frodo intuits differently than the miserable who stifle their wailing and as directed cross the river into Hell—Enter Here To the City of Woes.  With his blindfolds, ear buds and oxygen mask, 
Frodo stumbles from the precipice, dead to that World but is saved from dissolution in the brew of That Way such that even the nadir of rock bottom feels safer somehow.

He stops to think, to Herald in growth and change, to be the Shapeshifter of a mythopoetic World and we hear his howl, a rightful blasphemy from Grand Canyon of Truth 
as he shape-shifts his role in the game of life, taking the cards out of the hands of the Selfish Gene to slow the mass disappearance of flora and fauna has happened before and will happen again, and we at Consciousness, wonder, when there is this choice, why do the others still choose a sleepwalking World taking Earth with them, into co-extinction?

~ namastĂ©, Leah J. đź•Š

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