Page 226
By Jack Joseph Smith
Robb''in
It was so close
She houted
I can't believe it
The wonder
with the loss of trees
The bracelet left on the bulvard
That would be beer and the least of the dream
Rolling like honny out of a gallion tin
We went through the stop
And I rember the guns blowing us
all the way back to the river
we wanted any way