Migration

31 Major Jackson That summer, municipality was on everyone’s lips, Even the earth eaters who put the pastor in pastoral. Truth is my zeal for chicory waned, and my chest was damp. I shivered by a flagpole, knowing betrayal Was coming my way. Just the same, I believed like a guitar string Believes in distance and addressed each bright star Lord of My Feet. A country of overnight deputies, everyone had a knot To endeavor. I read oaks and poplars for signs: charred branches, Tobacco leaves strung up to die, swamp soil in my soul. Ever trace the outline of a phantom mob, even if you were late arriving? Migration ...