Where is the high road
passes the silo?
Battered truck that I’m driving. The sign on the rear reads “Wide Load.”
Told me I’d find it
if I kept driving.
Told me that there would be a sign out in front, or else behind it.
I can’t remember what they had said was there.
It’s been too long to keep it in mind…’cept that they’d said where.
Where is that sign that reads,
“Call out or signal, please!”
I’ve had enough of searching
where less than nothing’s lurking.
Can’t pull over – curb’s a bit too narrow.
If there weren’t no wind, this rain wouldn’t fall so slow.
Need comes in flashes.
Got any matches?
Sure’d be nice to park this thing but vandals pried off the latches.
Headlights are dingy;
company, stingy.
“Could you please tell us the name that you go by?” “Call me Angie.”
I can’t remember what they had said they’d give.
Enough to live on – something like that. Just see how I live.
Where are those homey booths?
And where, the hearth that soothes?
I’ve had enough of driving
where less than something’s thriving.
In the valley, see where all the towns glow.
If there weren’t no air, the stars wouldn’t fall so slow.
I like to chatter –
that’s what’s the matter.
Something that mother said – “When the wind stops, the rain falls sadder.”
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