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David Mark Speer |
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Wheels, Doors, Memories and Windows Motion draws attention And the reaction just can't be helped Swirling things make you look Forces you to follow a fixed point sliding through space A shock of plastic streamers in the wind Cover your hands as they grip the handlebars In every sunny day summertime shade Crimson, aquamarine, canary The lines flow as the front wheel turns Up the drive and around the back way The way that's lined with the old shrubs The ones that smell like turpentine in the night rain And charred ashes in the heat of the day Just past the worn down welcome mat A screen door swings wide for you Just as it always has In the cool quiet As rainwater rushes through the gutters And the house settles deeper onto its foundation The rafters creaking like the old bones they are Wind rattles the upstairs shutters And briny mist fills your nostrils The memories come flooding back The lightning Crack of thunder Gray skies eat themselves up and burn themselves black Clouds shift as the sun streams through The air clears and everything becomes electric Charged with sad silences and quiet breakdowns You throw open the windows to let the southerly breezes do their work. |