I very much like the build here, Jill.
And the slide into that finish.
And especially the cars with too many doors…
Doug
On Jul 29, 2015, at 4:13 AM, Jill Jones <[log in to unmask]> wrote:
> Cars, Those Sirens
>
>
>
> There’s nothing calming in a car.
>
> The decisions all go against you.
>
> Timing doesn’t work either.
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> Like the year you never had spring
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> and nothing yellow happened
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> until the wattle bloomed in winter
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> too early. Now a car waits, it’s white
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> and seemingly all-encompassing
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> with a lot of doors.
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> It smells as though something’s melting.
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> There’s dust on the glass maybe
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> or the thought of more travel.
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> That song! It never worked.
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> ‘We’ll go no more a-roving’.
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> They’ll never fix time zones, or provinciality
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> the need for postcards, airport coffee
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> or scanners.
>
> The car leaves, the car arrives.
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> You come back, you go again.
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> You’re going somewhere, no place.
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> You’re sitting waiting for the crash, the sirens.
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> They come forward with gifts.
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> They steal your luck and your luggage.
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> They never let you go.
Douglas Barbour
[log in to unmask]
Recent publications: (With Sheila E Murphy) Continuations & Continuation 2 (UofAPress).
Recording Dates (Rubicon Press).
Done in by creation itself.
I mean the gods. Not us. Well us too.
The gods moved into books. Who wrote the books?
We wrote the books. In whose dream, then are we dreaming?
Robert Kroetsch.
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