Aug 9, 2014 - Dried Rope Cone, by Tyrone Ross Thompson

Self-immolation comes by varied sources an unmeasured infliction

The connection in Washington State has a havoc of carnage

The destruction is birthed from season to season

From hops the ingredient that creates hardship and rage

Most lives lost & others attempting redemption

Also nearly eliminating indigenous society but lives are touched & injure leaving

Individuals, families, & communities a profound agony continually struggling

At a loss from slow death

To the misery of living with ill health

All by a small dried rope cone

Living, thinking, & allowing some to think their alone

A weakness had developed a conflicted mind

The kind that I sought solace around the same plant diffused

Internally trying to escape and numb any pain

On a collision course but at the same time trying to remain

Sane but emotions, feelings, & over thinking limited

All the sources of strength needed

To repose learning this plant nearly contributes to two-thirds of the world’s consumption

And the infliction spreads elsewhere outside our own distance but I sought perfection

A personal assurance to remove away from the idea of suicide

And began to write hoping to release all the hurtful

Pain & in absolving it was thinking of others to reassure their pride

Living with those damaged thoughts & will remain grateful

By reading daily it released the unhealthy self-doubt & began writing but the fulfillment

Is to relent past the social condition and reinvent to pass knowledge & live coherent

Because although this commodity of alcohol

Has a tremendous impact indigenous power

Can live beyond the social conditions built we can change and control

Our future the energy of those before our own gives us power

To proceed forward and appreciate for those who left and departed

An obliged debt their memory will live on for their love was unmeasured

Last Real Indians