Raymond Farr

Shooting at Life from a Passing Car

              It’s all over
But the slashing of tires

The vacant chuckle
Of shivering December blackout nights

Echoing its own self interest
The hisses are funny

On a day folding laundry
Coming the way they do from you folks

Sleeping in the peanut gallery
Iron wheels on the move

Over green land
We are too much of a tree moving at night

Other things bang against themselves
In order to make music

To make water a sound
You must hum the pink object


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