Quote (sir_lance_bb @ Thu, May 29 2008, 11:47pm)
I got to admit. Pat is pretty Tight.
pg 164.
Here you go Lance. I found this in an old journal recently dated September 27, 2004. Apparently it was a prose poem I started and then abandoned.
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Early Morning Somewhere on a Gravel Road between Allen and Admire, Kansas
Rolling hills and cattle. In the distance, a farm truck rumbles down a side road the sound of it downshifting echoing over the countryside. Then silence. Then a meadowlark. Then cattle lowing as they amble through the field, tearing grasses.
I am not the only one awake. I’m just a boy on a bike. I have no importance here. Every day the farmers are awake long before I am. Their trucks wearing deep ruts down the middle of the road. I ride these ruts. The gravel packed and smooth.
Every day the cattle wake and eat and find shade among these treeless hills. These pastures that stretch in all directions. Every day the meadowlarks sing, and the whippoorwills, and the hawks that cry while they circle for pray.
These things happen every day. They do not happen just for me. When I leave they will continue to happen as they have happened all along.
I cannot write this moment. Sounds do not attach themselves to words. I cannot write all that is happening. The feel of the sun warm on my bare arms does not transfer to words. I cannot describe how the clouds move through azure sky, the breeze, the reason one knows the clouds are moving, does not speak in words.
Why should I save this moment? These things that happen every day. These things that happen, but do not happen just for me. I have no importance here. I am not the only one awake.
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MQ music suggestion: Sponge - Plowed (from Rotting Pinata)
This post was edited by psw on May 29 2008 11:19pm