espagne

the pongs of spain

mile upon mile

the relentless march

of the chicken shacks

following the skins truck

the abattoir pick up

through the mountains

no relief

when you open all windows

black & gold

scorched wheat fields

smouldering the heat haze

sitting underneath the pines

after a summer storm

worse

the drains

in the absence of rains

to walk through fields

of rosemary

feel the bees hum

lunch times in the pueblo

windows open

is always home

 

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