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Barkley Layne Nov 2014
An old town that escapes the reality of today. 
I'd trade anything to see it in all of its glory. 
No cell phones, everyone smiling and waving.
Everything peaceful and happy. 
The sun peeking through the pine trees.
Do you hear the mockingbird's song? 
The summers are hot and humid,
the creaks are filled with crawfish,  
The banks filled with frogs and
Us playing cowboys and Indians.
A summer love and
A Mason jar of cold sweet tea. 
"Thank you Mrs. Maybell!" 
We giggle and run to our hiding place near the oak trees.
"Tag your it!" 
We all scurry barefooted through the woods. 
Screams, shouts. 
We forgot how we are still here, 
In the same town over taken by the sounds of silence. 
You may think this story is over; 
The truth is, it’s only just begun. 
"Back when I was a child" 
maybe seem boring to some, 
but if you listen-
You may be surprised how you will want to go back 
to a time when we could play near the creaks
and pay five cents for a coke. 
Life was simpler back then,
Back when; 
This town was small and simple, 
but it was home. 
And always will be.
I wrote this listening to my grandmother tell me stories of her home town, she did not think I was listening... but i am sure glad I was.
Josh Bass Aug 2014
The water recedes again
Nonchalantly walking back to it's home
The smell remains in Old Town
The sewage scent hitchhikes the breeze
To make it's way up the street named for kings
The water will return
and I cannot afford to live here
Martin Narrod May 2014
Hallucinating Bureaucracies and auditory Hallucinations : When the voice in your head speaks when you don't want it to, to head's of State not present. I could snuggle in bed if I wanted to, but I've got to orchestrate and reorganize the Clinton dowry. It started outright with trying on a purple, yellow, and blue button down shirt that had Scabies in the sleeve- and now you're all going to know why Mr. and Mrs. Obama don't want to talk to me about potentially increasing livestock traffic across the Americas. I think could practice will follow from such a manure, I mean maneuver. I pick up 10 or so bottles of plastic single-serve water for consumption in my apartheid room. It's awful in here. The gold disappears from the mines, and even the hands I used to work with are blurring up in the twister, and as much as you call or don't call I have no business managing your intentions- only mine. Some barrge of women over thirty. But still there isn't a problem. The river is beginning to flood, and the fishery's stockpile is running low. Maybe we ought to empty out an African mass grave and fill it with blacklists of co-conspirators and then make a drake or a flume out of the narrow walkways between the cities. Then maybe we'll have water to last us through the dry season.----------------------------------------------------------­--------------------------------- Where in the world is Sam in Hammond, Can Diego? Forklifting pillars, bribing monkeys, playing with his Mickey Mouse and Michelob, catching the taller, eighteen and up crowd catch the last car riding the rapid drop from Space Mountain through, "It's a Small World After All:"  

It's a world of laughter a world of tears, it's a world of hopes and a world of fears. There's so much that we share, that it's time we're aware- it's a small world after all."  

And then he takes the biggest gulp of water into his mouth that I've ever seen the man take, and he puts it in a small cooler that's strapped to the back of his calf, and he swears to me that the aeroplanes are going to come loop around, and when they do their glorious water-landing, he and I, or rather, the both of us, will be saved. Saved, hm? I don't even bother sharing insights or my insides. I quickly flash him the most-pod horrific a tryst that irons down a photo of Egon and I back in the Old City, what was it, Chicago, or something that very much sounded like Chicago. Could be totally awesome and I'll chime in that now is the time when we do our work best. That's all. Intrepid,

— The End —