(9ash of 11)
I had just followed country roads back to an earlier home where I belong. I didn't have to travel far because my mother owned all the land. It was so much land, it was not feasible in any stretch of logic to demand it was ours. Of course it was.The land was called Earth, and like all things, it too was reversing course.
I've lived here several lives, but have only been gone a minute or two.
During that brief time, snow people came out of winter woods and are crawling around everywhere like maggots on wet faggots of warm wood and like bold boll weevils on fresh cotton goods. They come to feast on the above and below, even as Earth itself is upheaving like a gestating mother. She is bringing up the sediments of settlements, that neglect causes many to forget.
I've been showing off, blowing off, using my superpowers elsewhere, in another galaxy, for all intents and purposes.
I immediately encounter a legion of squirming vermin trashing the place, giving me the stank face while taking advantage of the grace of my ancestors, and my own enabling of aggressors.Some young females presuppose they can teach me the ropes and bind me with okie dokes.
They spout history and legality according to their brief life trail of misery. They show me maps to justify their acts of defiling the land, monuments and pyramids, supposing they can just dig wherever they stand as they please.
Though I've been flowing off, I've found my way back down Sankofa Road because I have been growing oft. So I snap and clapback and tell them I don't give a freakin' frack about their maps and holey inflated miseducated self-estimated yakety-yak. And that by the end of this great day, I want them all off this land. Until I say otherwise, this command stands as all grievances are addressed.
I try to walk it off but continue going off and release the unrepentant anger on familiar strangers, telling them if you want to be of any help to yourself, then talk to your people in a hurry. I am the not the one because I am the ones.