HIDEAWAY LUNDSTROM
'You ain't seen me.' Marvelous, all this is.
I'm going high up again into those hills, where
nothing can be seen. Three days there will do it
for me : lice and a necklace, deer and the woods,
mosquitos and drench-pipes everywhere else. Those
locals have their ways of talking to me. I come out in
morning, just standing there. Up at the sky I look -
brute like a force, swell like a hummer, broad like the
base of an old used gun. My name it is legion but I
left my Bible home. Oh Gideon one. Down to the
little village where some moron pretends to be
brewing what he calls coffee, until ten, when he
then sells again as lacqeur, the stuff they swab
dressers with; gum and tar and turpentine. A
real woodworker's delight. But these are not
them, these instead are woodsmen. What do
they know of the finer thngs in life?
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