You slept beyond smallest,
restoring food with rapid preparation
for the world in Benkelman, NE,
even if I said, awake!, in Benkelman,
four years following.
Struck in the veins with my fried potatoes
all the direction of Cokeville,
I'm in Wyoming, where you drew twice
with the rodeo pioneer from celebration day
and rolled on the belt of safety
for turning of the colpevolezza
of our large fatherland.
The point of our house mortgages
was to buy this van of conversion!
That and the open thing of this road of all,
the whole freedom to be taken,
all these stars of zillion finally more.
But then conked Independence,
of Kansas, place of small house on the meadow.
Now you have hunger and want to go to house.
What house? I will not stop. We will not stop.
We don't even see any lights.
The Rumpus Review of It Comes at Night
1 hour ago