SOMETIMES
Sometimes you just want to know
what time it is, not how to make a
watch. There's a sonnet in her bonnet,
and that's all I know. A poetry in
motion like a land-grab through some
Appalachian hollow. Here comes the
railroad, there goes the coal-car. We're
left here like bitches, curs with old
rotted teeth. I think I'll walk the Blue
Ridge Highway until I just can't
walk no more.
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