Thursday, March 15, 2012

Cleaning fires

Time to trip this one
with a pitch and a dark earth
sky outback and Whit like the
junkyard stray he is rolling in
the embers of lost prescient fires
of last night under the stars
where there's more out then usual,
even the red lights blinking in the
distance don't look so afraid,
so I chase him running around the house
me cleaning off the dirt and wiping it
on my plaid pajamas, the
air is smelling like Spring mid-March,
I'm falling to the trip that is
what my life will be forever,
I see the west and the day and infinite
roads to infinite places, I see where I belong

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