at night, 12:32

there are beaches i'v enot seen nor anyone else in the warm sand of my mind that bring such luxury as no umbrella drink or lawnchair ever offered (hammock or not) tides written int eh way the earth turns the way stars burst or trap-door clouds pass by and safe as any haven cool and arching across timberlands int he heartland of all that's sacred and i visit soon as ever, them- my mind calls me home.

2003-12-09 | 4:41 p.m.
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