The Testament Of Edward Abbey

I rode the rapids here before the dam,
before the place filled up with people
mewling like cats for the warmth of four walls. 
I saw black bears by the dozen in those woods.
It’s lumber now. Don’t ask me.
I was in the War, I saw
what Men will do.

You should have caught this place before
the freeways and the missile silos,
before the Big Boys fucked it up.
Well, they’ll come for me. It’s late,
the monster grows, I owe the Earth
a body. Take me when it’s time
out to the desert, where we drank
that night to the old sad Spirit.
Dig a hole they’ll never find.

And may you live to see it fall,
to see the lumbermen and the miners,
the candidates and the tax collectors
choke on their planks and ashes. 
And may you see the fish return
when they bring Glen Canyon down.
Fare you well, then. Ride the rivers,
take your beer cans home. 
Struggle like a fly in the Machine’s oil. 
Be of good cheer. Count the stars. 
Keep running.

Songs From The Blue River, 2018