take my hand and climb with me…

forty four degrees: ‘bless your crooked little heart…’

Hold On ~ Tom Waits

forty four

National anthem, hearts lost and wandering. Or held, everlasting. Despite rust and ruin, savage geography. So much remains, vivid. Vital growth, independent quest. Caught between destiny’s feint parenthesis. Know what you already do: I still love you. After everything, after all.


Inside your head there’s a record that’s playing, a song…

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This entry was posted on November 13, 2012 by in Spring and tagged , , , , , .


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