CAN YOU CATALOGUE
MY KEYSTONE MAGNET?
Nothing ever makes me happier
than writing words and poetry;
maybe a padding refuge at a
comedy class, or some coach
in drama-school training the
kids to love-scene kiss. Those
are both pretty funny.
-
Funny; but they don't make me
happy - they're only routine.
Just up from the town of
Woodstock, is the magic elixir
of the mountain there named
Overlook. It's supposed to have
cast spells on early settlers, and
broken the moon's back, coming
fat over the horizon.
-
But that's not true at all - to
the original inhabitants, the natives
of the fields and woods and waters,
it was an unlucky place, one vexed
and cursed and covered in bad spells.
-
You can only find that out now if
you ask the right people; shamanistic
overlords, there now, who oversee
dark places. There's still plenty of
joy; yes. But look around sometime -
see how twigs and limbs and branches
grow twisted and bent. The strange,
underground, iron-water running
over everything along its way.
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