Saturday, October 15, 2005
Another Country : Hickory Wind
A dead weight.
A desert night
Black
Strung out
As our bootlace ties.
The gasoline smell
A faraway city
The fleeting shadow of a man with a spear
Caught in the flames.
A promise kept.
I remember the oak tree
That we used to climb
Still
Someone should say something
As a hickory wind
Blows the smoke South.
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