There’s a gold-line interstate dancing through the state of mind, down through the snow storms of cotton willow seeds, to make your heartbeat freeze. 2x4’s hug the windows, and throw off the symmetry, of the three houses in a circle, where the town hall used to be… your grandma planted tobacco seeds. And the service played her lover “Taps” in 1943. And the money they sent home, bought her pills and some relief.
Oh Tennessee.
Tennessee.
Tennessee.