Sunday, July 20, 2008


In this sleepy place,
news travels at a violent pace.

Every night is a carnival, an ongoing funeral.

Street corners make an empty landscape
light changes colors to an empty curb
Sunday morning settles down
on a high mountain desert town.

A heavy head and a chest of regret,
The last thing you remember
was making a bet that you could follow the
meteor until it hit, but it was just
truck lights reflecting on the side of a house.


ScaughtFive said...

This be another good one.

heather said...

You knew it was a song right?


Resolving (I think) with a the old standby of D to G.

I'll play it for ya some time.

heather said...

Oh, and I wrote it.

Dana said...

I likes it!

ScaughtFive said...

DanaGirl is a good judge of talent, H-Towne. She's also got it goin' on in oh so many ways!

Dana said...

haha! I don't think you're supposed to use Heather's blog to hit on me! =)

heather said...

You kids can frolic in my blogspace. Just keep it Gee-rated!