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Click hereIn western Wyoming,
somewhere along Route 80,
there's a lone truck stop to
alert those who fly by that the
exit there leads to a lone town
off to one side.
I stand there now,
pinned in by storms on three fronts,
watching those mad raging pools
running down behind lightening clouds.
Off the road -
over by the barbwire -
there's a spot of grass I'm eyeing.
Should those colors run off without me
I suppose it's there I'll lie
to sleep, perchance to stay dry.
But it's a long six hours awake
in the back of a tar truck for me,
with the two hispanics in the cab
driving the rain down the tarp
to pool upon me through the night.
I tripped up a little on line four, otherwise, the words flowed so naturally. Wonderful images...
jim :)