NATURE MACHINE
So here's the cog in that
nature machine you keep
talking about. That Dingman's
Ferry guy who keeps taking
money for me to cross the road.
If I was an Indian, I'd be dead;
I know that. Those old Native
Americans didn't really last
long. 'Rally 'round'the flag,
boys', and all that fireworks
crap. Bring down that head
on the ear of corn. Listen
twice to the sound of the
distant meadow. Those are
dead Injuns now - we've
met them all before. There's
a detour where the road once
ran, and an ancient old lady,
still awaiting her man. There's
nothing any more coming, but
I've not the heart to tell her.
It's all I can stand just to look.
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