Those, and the Roads We Travel…

07/03/2010

…are often the most profound.

Chapters

The Post Office sat at the head of the bed, a place seldom seen anymore.

Scopes of blackened crows and buffalos breach paint buckets filled with sonic greens of gold.

Beside the top shelf red dogs and a morning draught,

A long-haired speed ball began moving shoes on an antique screen reading, “three in a season and one left out.”

Three watt lights of yellow guide the Viking ship through the clouds of grey,

As the wounded lions and legless doves return to battle after too much time away.

Red carpets made from sidewalk chalk host the welcome home’s and come again’s,

Posed by mariachi playing air guitar and strumming violins.

Spend time in port before the sloops set sail

With the smoking gulls, the punk rock girls and all they both entail.

-Andrew Miller, 010

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