day makersthe well it called me. speech of hooks. shot once into the air and left the horse to hang in the barn. goodbye town that I know. little black feathers on little black ants better that this also be goodbye. I saw many things wrong as a child. the way the living not the dead would turn. the night pared from the wall a thin thing over the thin mouth of my sister. I thought it all a circus sorrowed but a circus still. now I watch a barn being raised and want nothing for the swallow on my arm. a human word is rape and human to go when called. I was wrong to take the knife from the boy in the well. to think it merely shyness keeping him small in that drawn bucket. |
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