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Modern Fable


by Tim Young


there's looks between the covers
and shotguns in the drawer
there are lights above the pavement
and cash in an old green jar
there are muscle men in the circus
there are travelers on the path
there are flies eating shit
there are rivers that run like roads

mama is cold in her grave
as the grass bends down in the wind
the sun plays off the grey stones
the children don't know where to begin
there's a monster under the bed boards
there's a woman at the head of the stairs
there's a man outside in the rain
the newspapers will never learn to explain

so much traffic sits and snarls
the gasoline burning like desire
the windows rolling down
the radio blares
and it's impossible to keep off
the accelerator 

once she said you better run for your life,
you better find a place to take shelter
to hide away from the looks and the men
who constantly waste their lives

one day a hard rock is going
to break through the windshield
and sting like a million bees
pouring in like raindrops
only the pain will be so much pleasure
and the distances travelled
small in the scheme of things
but running to finally hold you
brings it all into perfect perspective
and a cool drink of water
melts flesh as the blood
keeps pumping

a modern fable caught in the blink
of an eye
a roaring roar washing down
the bourbon over ice
the story compact enough
to just fit.
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