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winding road

Posted by jan oskar hansen on July 13, 2017 at 5:45 AM

Winding roads

 

 

The table, light catches a singular drop of

the blush on the carpet which doesn’t respond,

no more than a road would do to a street light.

 

Asphalt is grey at night, not black, full of spilt ale it felt adventurous,

curled itself up and splashed into the landscape where roads had never

before daring to a thread.

 

How happy they were animals and tractors until they discovered

the road ended by a river,

too deep to cross in winters and too stony for sore hooves in summers.

 

This problem was overcome when someone found a nugget of gold

and the landscape was full of prospectors who survived, by eating

their mules slowly.

 

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