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04-19-2006, 07:12 PM
Covered bridge along a dusty path
Past a rusty gate
Hanging over clumsy stones
Blanketed by a pale blue sky
And birds, birds tussle in a nest
The way a farmer works the boundaries
with his scythe
The barn tosses her chips into a
pussy willow storm
And millions of sounds go chinkle chankle
Out and about the whole shebang
The hay and wavy grass, the jingle jangle
of a playful wind
Enter an immense hole plowed into the bowel
of the old red barn out on Gunther's farm
bathed today by a sun shower
Tingling the minds of distracted heads
Exploring the virgin depths
The sounds like a running brook
Smell, her wiff of stillness, if it weren't for
the white sheets
Under tiny holes in the roof
Comes a distant howl
a frayed door without a lock
Without a door knob
Where the camera eye probes
Where faces are striped with beads of sweat
Dripping on the floor
The swelling warmth, the magnifying heat, the inertia
Inside the barn, doors flung wide open like brooding legs
by the rumbling tumbling storm
Ordained by a throng of pussy willows
Caught in a wind like a catcher's mitt
In the hapless swirls and curls of a frenetic painter
hanging on the periphery of a grassy knoll
A secret spot where he eyes
the barn
Past a rusty gate
Hanging over clumsy stones
Blanketed by a pale blue sky
And birds, birds tussle in a nest
The way a farmer works the boundaries
with his scythe
The barn tosses her chips into a
pussy willow storm
And millions of sounds go chinkle chankle
Out and about the whole shebang
The hay and wavy grass, the jingle jangle
of a playful wind
Enter an immense hole plowed into the bowel
of the old red barn out on Gunther's farm
bathed today by a sun shower
Tingling the minds of distracted heads
Exploring the virgin depths
The sounds like a running brook
Smell, her wiff of stillness, if it weren't for
the white sheets
Under tiny holes in the roof
Comes a distant howl
a frayed door without a lock
Without a door knob
Where the camera eye probes
Where faces are striped with beads of sweat
Dripping on the floor
The swelling warmth, the magnifying heat, the inertia
Inside the barn, doors flung wide open like brooding legs
by the rumbling tumbling storm
Ordained by a throng of pussy willows
Caught in a wind like a catcher's mitt
In the hapless swirls and curls of a frenetic painter
hanging on the periphery of a grassy knoll
A secret spot where he eyes
the barn