Such a noble imitation takes years.

As the past was once
And never becomes,
Let my road be straight.
Let me spill my blood
Upon heavens gate.
Let my heart lose its beat
For all that is lost or cold
Or empty.
If the clock and my eyes
Tell the truth all at once,
Then the sun’s coming up.
But not for me
With my mind nightingly
In this old blue truck
Too tired to carry me.
Not in Kansas anymore.
Rivers red landslide.
I change my mind.
And I open the door.


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Filed under poem, poetry

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