Sometimes I think about Oroville

Like a tweaker panning for gold
in the dead drought dessicated crick like a slot machine about to give way

Like the white cessna stingray
in May failing at low altitudes
at seven in the morning

Like a gang of deadeyed palepasty zombie kids
twitchpicking their way thru
a market that doesn’t give a fuck

Like the nine gram rule
that kept everyone out
and everything in

Like using a helicopter
to pinpoint where to falsify
your thousandth anonymous complaint

Like packs of water bottles lined up
several hundred yards away
who knows how many rounds of .308

Like two dudes getting a handy in an old Chevy
by a tweakjawed crackwhore between them by the tracks

Like how they always wondered if it was Sour Diesel
& one of their corrupt colleagues got caught
moving packs back east

Like that real raw look on their face
everyone has from the brutal heat beating down
through the toxic valley air

Like winning 10k at the casino
getting drunk and dying crashing into a river on your way home
the cash floating downstream


9 thoughts on “Sometimes I think about Oroville

      1. pseudonymous Post author

        They fly them at night in Wheatland, and apparently elsewhere during the day with no fucks given. Impossible to know if they’re delivering or running a mission…you can use your imagination

      2. boozilla

        I know. Plus we get the inept helicopters too. But we’ve seen things here that almost defy the imagination, cloaking stuff at night and just…weird things that make you go inside and say perhaps you WILL have a glass of wine for steadying purposes… is ever more unsettling in these parts i must say….

      3. pseudonymous Post author

        That type of shit doesn’t scare me at all anymore but it did when I was a kid. I’ve known about the watching for basically my whole life. I get it now to say the least.

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