Stuck here in the ground not flinching
or thinking or anything.
And in the certian, final way of trees and
made of oak.
Like nothing nobody your life.
Snot-nosed in the goodbye hankies of my
dreams, suddenly put out.
Wind, nails.
We won't go mushrooming again the fog
has shallowed everything the white goats
and our baskets.
We won't be going to enourmous cities
either which are highly organized grey
whales our hearts would soon get lost.
Nor to the cinema or circus, the cafe-
concerts, the cycle races.
We won't go we'll not be going any more
no more than we won't go than we won't
laugh we won't be laughing any more than
we won't break up laughing.
And that makes two it's easy dad and
me it's easy.
I count on him to make my peace with
me.
Clouds go over us, toads croaking in the
distance singing much more sweetly than
they are.
My dad doesn't say a word the two of us
are here but I'm the only one to have the
wind blow through my hair and he's the
only one not opening his eyes.
And I show him with my finger where
the really puffed up song comes from of
toads but he's familiar with the fable.
Clouds go over us our time, especially
for me because I count them so.
My dad doesn't say a word we're
different my dad and me both of us left
stranded.
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