Thursday, June 14, 2007



Virginia Whiskey (alternate version)

We stopped for a drink at the river.
It was a small river, but powerful -
step inside and you are almost tumbled by the weight of water
rushing around your knees, cooling your skin

We were walking through the old woods of Virginia,
Shenandoah growth of thick moss, curling mushroom, limestone;
full of medicine women, red fox, elapsed time.

You pulled out the flask, which I love only for it's crude nostalgia,
its metallic sheen and dainty embossed floral pattern.
We sat next to the river and watched the water swiftly carry old stories down
oblivious to their place in time, paying no attention to our humanistic linear needs
The river simply told stories
and swept up new ones too,
ours.





Virginia Whiskey

I bought this flask on a trip out west
and let it be said that it's light and travels well,
and made it's way back to a home of sorts.

Because I needed a place to think on when I was away
I played the song about Virginia, its wood fire smoke and trees still scarred from the war.
I can spin tales of its gently rolling Shenandoah;
forests dense with green; dark, full of medicine women, red fox, elapsed time.

But this is an old remembrance, liquid, and before my time.
Distill it, light the lantern, lay down the arms.

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