In the middle of the road there is a dead dog.
After sunset we went to the pavilion.
Many years later, he thought of that night.
The effect it had on his future was irrevocable.
Only now does he see the boy he once was.
Things, in Jacksonville, may have been different.
An answering machine waits to be played once again.
Lines cross before him, he is forever's master.
Letting go, his path has been made his own.
Yellow rays of a new sun burn his eyes forever.
Lost now to the dreams of his waking life.
Over the hill, now the rains, now the horror.
Standing in a pool of runoff, of piss, of loss.
Taking the remaining pieces, pocketing them, and waking away.
F
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E
V
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Tuesday, March 3, 2009
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