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Showing results for tags 'i wrote this in the car'.
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concrete rivers bridges traversing open, rolling seas; brown-green grass and hay-bale yellow, scraggy trees and pickup trucks. each gas station is alike to the rest, each red pump and beer for sale each rusting faucet and shelves of cigarettes. here is a grove of old farmhouses and mobile homes. the fenceposts lead into eternity; this is a special kind of purgatory. i am nose-to-the-glass, or unsettled indifference. cow, i point— that's our game, our roadtrip pastime, though here: points are far too easy to come by. (maybe we should switch to counting tractors.) timeless expanses and rolling, similar fields. there's cotton, there, clouds cast in miniature among the brown stalks, and, squinting, can i see the ghosts of the people wronged? (how many points for that sheep? how many for a race's dignity?) this is a special kind of purgatory one in which i am a stranger passerby, migratory bird: bright feathers, exotic, flying past sparrows on fences, home to my concrete trees and shopping malls. this is a haunted universe, but who am i to judge it? who am i to judge the people who sleep beneath those graves, in yonder church after church after church, nestled among the cornfields? (i am but a stranger, and cannot know their lives. yet, with feather-eyed opinions, i will be glad to return home.) ~~~~~ aka the southeast countryside terrifies me in a guttural way and i cannot help it please forgive me it's all cowfields and republicans hhhhh