Litkicks Message Board Archive


Posted to Action Poetry

hills of anger are over came
come with me to the city
we are on the farm
80 acrs. no one cares
country folk know that it is ok
to by called a hick
the breath real air and walk on real land
There is nothing more relaxing
nothing then a beer in the country
on a patio at a cottage
out at the lake
clear clam water