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November 13, 2005
the inca trail
the clouds appeared
to be falling apart
into the salad bowl
into the valley
below
and even small children
and small change
are inseperable
tossing her ice cream
onto the pavement
when mother took away
her coins
to pay the grocer
a man with no hands
deals cards
he does not share
your expectations
and along the pan american highway
amongst the fog and woolen caps
the frozen expression of the dead
lying akward in the gutter
we prepare a minor feast
on a stove in the shower
we tap into the nicaraugan rum
and exchange pleasantries
with the other drifters
passing through
sometimes you waken
from the throes of the night
and wonder where
you are
you have been everywhere
you have been nowhere
the world is just a carousel
the world is just a bundle of images
that you try to retain
proof
of an effort
that few will ever recognize
Posted by Drexler at November 13, 2005 01:05 PM