Chicory Mid-October Morning
wall of earth is sunken
story out of doors
famously here leaves clouds
for rivers to sit and have coffee
now refined stormy weathers
where callers lead us every damn place
we go in unacquainted territories of
very much alive resistors
with greening hymns of aristocracy
you are used to bitter mornings
touched in tin-clad wooden
indians barely in their nickels
to beat this dime game
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