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#£§§^^»¨¨¨ i follow the tire tracks west. they go ¨¨¨»^^§§£#
##£§&§^»~¨ parallel with the railroad, with its ¨~»^§&§£##
##£§&§^»~¨ endless mirrors looking kinda oily. an ¨~»^§&§£##
##£§&§^»~¨ incredible power bound there... there's ¨~»^§&§£##
§§&&&§^»~¨ a wire fence to separate the two roads. ¨~»^§&&&§§
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###§&§^»~¨ even though there's a foggy quality to ¨~»^§&§###
###£§&^»~¨ the air, the path i follow is glowing. ¨~»^&§£###
#§§§&§^»~¨ a yellow-green moss has taken hold ¨~»^§&§§§#
§&&&§»¨¨¨¨ where the machines who made these ¨¨¨¨»§&&&§
§§§»~¨¨¨¨¨ tracks once disturbed the clover field. ¨¨¨¨¨~»§§§
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§&§»~~~¨¨¨ we're off the season when the birds ¨¨¨~~~»§&§
###£&§^»~¨ sing beautifully. these days it's just ¨~»^§&£###
£&§^^»~¨¨¨ screeches, or calls for help. ¨¨¨~»^^§&£
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###£&§^»~¨ i think of the jackdaw i maimed ¨~»^§&£###
§§§§&§^»~¨ yesterday. i fear the dreaming gate. ¨~»^§&§§§§
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