a trip to ole ontario.

of nordic past
of prairie truths
loving tales
of oldtimes
long, oh-so far gone

600 hundred mile away and i don't know who to call.

a few ciders in.

i'd empty all my pockets, drawers, and spill out my brains
to spend one more day on the open plains

with love/ homemade.

meadowdeer; that move so fast you won't see them.

I saw 3 foxes, plus a thousand mailboxes, emptied out my mind of citylike ways. i thought,who cares about time, days can go by, months could pass. my school books can read themselves. i'd rather watch the clouds float on. i'd rather bake a pumpkin pie. say.. i met an small farmcat who followed me around. she tried to hunt a bird, but she's too young and her mother never taught her how not to be heard. woke up real early, drove down some dirt roads. woke up early again, saw the stars fill the sky, two hours went by. drank coffee black. i sat here writing about my time in the country. cause all of my mind is stuck in the country. have you ever felt you were born in the wrong place? if there was a thousand places i could choose to die, i think it'd be somewhere in the middle of a field, in the middle of nowhere, under apatch of prairie grass, with maybe an old shoe. troubles become like bubbles from the mouth of a trout. forget about the city, forget about the people in the city i live in. send me back.