Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Rains of Indianapolis

there're no windows
in my cell

I get to thnkin'--

how those sulky
mid-western clouds
take their time passing
wheat fields corn fields

it's the gray wet mornings
in the mid-west I remember
the most--the trail of
rain on windshield--steady
grind of tires--

tried to write this pome
three days now
just stares at me

no go--

Indiana at sunrise,
roll wroll roul
to that big brown
river lull lowl luwl
ya into faded

uneven poems--

'course I could
frame it some other way,

but for the drifting
thot thought thowt


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