Friday, May 24, 2013

Friday Prompts

A burning truck

The idle length of the road out of town

The sea too bright, the sun too hot

Vested men in the dark of doorways

More light than ever, but a bad light

A soul as dirty as a mechanic's rag

I will get up soon. I may got to town

A plain woman, a bucket of dull water

I may buy a yellow box. Or a pink box

In a hundred years time, what?

Lean under the wind, go faster

After the tree falls where do the sounds of leaves go?

Past railway stations, crossings, old women with bags

I wonder if anyone will ever look me up?

Or make a house from stars

Expecting bad weather, cold rising

He was a hill type, dark

A horseman wondering at a train

We walk into a forest to walk out, trees

There were four of when we found the shed

Endless fences and wide, wide fields

She wanted a pony, but not a father

I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay, wastin' time

Sometimes a woman sweeps; sometimes she polishes

A Fat, Dark Wood

When I was a child my father was golden

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