Saturday, March 19, 2005

My Stomach is Full and My Soul is Happy

A car, a brother, a sister, a dog, the mountains, a hawk at eye level. Six burly bikers that set the dog to barking. A road that folds back on it self two or three times. The sun shining through the clouds. Chickens huddled near an old white dog. Always the yellow line, solid and breaking, solid and breaking. There's never anyone coming. Pass or don't; it's your choice.


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