<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350329" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Early Occult Memory Systems Of The Lower Midwest</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">In his fifth year the son, deep in the backseat <br>of his father's Ford and the mysterium<br>of time, holds time in memory with words,<br>night, this night, on the way to a stalled rig south <br>of Kiowa Creek where the plains wind stacks <br>the skeletons of weeds on barbed-wire fences <br>and rattles the battered DeKalb sign to make <br>the child think of time in its passing, of death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Cattle stare at flat-bed haulers gunning clumps <br>of black smoke and lugging damaged drill pipe <br>up the gullied, mud-hollowed road. Road, this <br>road. Roustabouts shouting from the crow's nest <br>float like Ascension angels on a ring of lights. <br>Chokecherries gouge the purpled sky, cloud-<br>swags running the moon under, and starlight <br>rains across the Ford's blue hood. Blue, this blue.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Later, where black flies haunt the mud tank, <br>the boy walks along the pipe rack dragging<br>a stick across the hollow ends to make a kind <br>of music, and the creek throbs with frog songs, <br>locusts, the rasp of tree limbs blown and scattered. <br>The great horse people, his father, these sounds, <br>these shapes saved from time's dark creek as the car <br>moves across the moving earth: world, this world.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=B.H.+Fairchild">B.H. Fairchild</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350329" data-title="Early Occult Memory Systems Of The Lower Midwest de B.H. Fairchild" data-description="In his fifth year the son, deep in the backseat of his father's Ford and the mysterium of time, holds time in memory with words, night, this night, on the way to a stalled rig south of Kiowa Creek where the plains wind stacks the skeletons of w..."></div> </div> </div>

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