h.b.irwin

Of an Arkansas

In Uncategorized on December 12, 2008 at 1:15 pm

Then, the hot pavement was sticky. Not sticky like peanut butter, but like the sick, slick stick of sweat beading down your arms in the thick air of an Arkansas July. Like rubbing your fingers over the stems of a tall field grass. But this was not July. The orange bulb of sun was setting on summer in Late August; and I, organic, was tiptoeing on the no-give, nonsense of sticky pavement. And every step after step seldom left the ground, as they were still attached to tall field grass and thick air of a July. The resin of my memories held tight my mind, and the allure of city and Late August was nothing but nothing. All slick and metal, I turn left to loose. This new world circles around without angle or snag and rushes past without friction or decay.

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  1. I remember this

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