music to die from
Up on green mountain
I hear the music
of the gasoline instrument
that sputters perfume
to melt my skin
They come like the gusts of misty air
around the bends
through the cloud covered hills
gently caressing my internal
combustion chamber
Originally written 1/10/2004 in Costa Rica.
It is hard to escape diesel fumes on mountain roads.
Love your work and your poetry.
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