The weather's done there's no one
nothing on the roads, you're done
hoping for the shoreline. Must have left it

with your mind. In Charlemagne
the concrete, rural laundromats sold us wine and plastic whiskey, threw it somewhere
in the mind. Blood slows in the throat

of the good life and this country's deep
when you open it wide and wipe off the dead sleep; let the river come in
on the only highway.

Red Dear morning, devil weather came violet through the clouds and wheat fields.
The evening showed her good legs
under a dead star. This is good and bad

for me, I can still waste time with you,
bored and old in Winnipeg. Lost it somewhere in the mind. Things grow on the throat
of the good life and this country's deep

when you open it wide and wipe of the dead sleep; let the river come in
on the only highway.