IN SHADOWLAND
I'm astride that riding-horse again and the landscape
runs past me as hot as steam and fiery air. I race past
lies and inquisitions, guillotines and disembowelings, all
those things of Kings and Popes. Not a mention worth
shit is made, not a whit. 'My mother who once filched from
her sister coins she didn't have to buy me an ice cream.'
C.K.Williams wrote that and that's how I feel inside : like
a cold cedar on the edge of a vast swamp, like a billowing
cloud soon to burst black rain. I am sumptuous, and
presumptuous as well. I seek BOTH, the Heaven and
the Hell. Here I am in Shadowland. Here I am again.
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