Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

wildflowers on the copplestone
of these streets
cracks on the roads
like nowhere
telling me its time
like its time to shake out the dust from the wet crow feathers
like starting a new band
the New Freedom riders

and maybe thats just my heart beat
poundin' the drums
fingers in the old a-miner hook
that July- comes - a-time- maniac- strawberry taste
kickin in
the hot bass of the sun on me
this crow on the wings
shakin it off

'hot bass of the sun on me'

ride that freedom wave in the land of midnight sun!

been so long since the streets have spoke to me, old man country living raising children and fenced in views make your eyes only take in the shapes shown them, squares nestled inside communities of other squares and the little gardens and playgrounds that try and hide their shape

I miss downtown, the old buildings, the 1920's apartment i once owned and the milk doors screwed closed from the inside, not safe to have anymore, but a good place to store things, goodies, pills, or scrolls of religious insight.

Good poem