torn labels

logging trucks and
little teeth –

                                    driving th cold out
                                    stretched province; getting away

                                    from
                                    th
                                    horizon.

never met anyone who done it. it grows,
buys a house, moves on.

                                   names become sentences
                                   to which I take a chainsaw. futures crack

th engine block / a hitchhiker’s thumb
song – 

three hurry-up’s and a child
hood. hear anyone

did it slowly paddling under
th moon on heart lake. 

# posted by hardyf : 14:38