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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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