
Untitled
There is a piece of land hidden in the curved & twisted hills
of the Black Forest
People arrive in bundles & in twos
Escaping the eery lives of their hometown blues
The clouds hang low
but seem lightyears away
silhouetting the needles & the pines
caging the sun in ribs of violet, green & grey
It’s a parade of want-to-be freaks
of want-to-be lovers
a temporary state of being
free at last
free for the last.
Aug. 11. 2018