Saturday, March 28, 2015

St. Louis, City of Rolling Smoke

Riding back from St Louis
I felt like I was leaving our new life behind
In a mist of alcohol and old brick buildings.

And it’s easy to love somewhere you’re not from.
The worn land has no story or
No memories of your own

As the traffic rose east,
I wanted to turn around and return
To where we’d never been together before
To remind you that all of City Museum
Was not a fever dream in smoke. 

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