Drum beats and the days go on in years and years until all six are gone and you're on your way to the western lands that held my hand and golden brow just long enough to learn there's no reason to go back. no call to arm such errant troubles.
Prickly wombs and mending trees.
Some shores belong to the bearded young. some to the concrete rent that makes us monsters. fakers. tired eyed destinies hallowed the red palm of my hand and the clouds come to kiss off the stumbling ides of summertime.
Who would drink the blood of fortune. level sutured arms in a kiss.
Razed mountain men. women. children dyed in avenues laughing the sirens calling come home again.
Still proud. still terrified. waving at the window wishing goodnight, friend.
Goodnight.
So Long, Lonesome.mp3
8.22.2007
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