Home Country
By SLIM RANDLES
When the world is hot and my skin is fried, scratching from the constant dry, let the clouds boil up, boil up high. And then shade the earth with the darkening sky and bring the secrets and the smell of rain. The coolness and the blessed rain, again.
Our land is brown but blessed, stressed in the heat, the shiny heat of day.
The slender green of rivers slide along, striving to continue, to feed its own along the banks, the banks where the dust rises. Rises, powdery clomp by clomp as we walk, walk the shady way.
And though the heat, the dryness of heat, pushes down our weary feet, Read More

















