NaPoWriMo #19
THE GALLOPING FIELD
The galloping field misses a while, gallops again, fills with a truck and a jack two miles distant, gallops again with the road, instructs us how to draw a line in alkaline and red.
Rabbits flew from here in a cloud because dogs parry the edge of the ditch with sound, because a lady of the town said so, because of any day we can find a dove leaved into our skin.
There is an egg in the mud. My pinkness leaves a sock to be reckoned with, if you tot up the figures there is usually one who will drive you there. He keeps a red thing in the barn, a water going, a towering man of a man.
Of all the places this is the least placeless, I can check your name against the rolls. Crook a post over what looks like a hill and on the other side you can dam the dust easier. Each day is a red raw thing.
If you can't climb the hill there is always the fishladder, it spills a water down the flume, it gathers in all the salmoncake harvestapple lemonwater. At the end of it is the county seat counting a lit camera for every day one way driven.
Don't enter the hack, it is calculated from here to conception, the street will always be open to the line of fire. From here to the current you'll find is a straight line but you traveled it crooked and willingly.
The galloping field misses a while, gallops again, fills with a truck and a jack two miles distant, gallops again with the road, instructs us how to draw a line in alkaline and red.
Rabbits flew from here in a cloud because dogs parry the edge of the ditch with sound, because a lady of the town said so, because of any day we can find a dove leaved into our skin.
There is an egg in the mud. My pinkness leaves a sock to be reckoned with, if you tot up the figures there is usually one who will drive you there. He keeps a red thing in the barn, a water going, a towering man of a man.
Of all the places this is the least placeless, I can check your name against the rolls. Crook a post over what looks like a hill and on the other side you can dam the dust easier. Each day is a red raw thing.
If you can't climb the hill there is always the fishladder, it spills a water down the flume, it gathers in all the salmoncake harvestapple lemonwater. At the end of it is the county seat counting a lit camera for every day one way driven.
Don't enter the hack, it is calculated from here to conception, the street will always be open to the line of fire. From here to the current you'll find is a straight line but you traveled it crooked and willingly.