nickel towns

Take a blade and carve your name into some wood. Carve someone else’s name. Write a poem, in the wood. Does anybody do that? Find random trees and carve woody poems in to them? What kind of society produces these men? We are the Poem-Writers, we travel the land in search of honest trees, ye, and we carve poem in them. We do it every so often. I suppose they’re not on horses and sound like the amish, now, they’re probably motorcycle riders these days, or maybe now they just do it in virtual reality, but the medium of tree trunk lasts so much longer, so I don’t know guys. All of this is lights and electricity and a trick of magnets. What you have outside is brilliance. Go, motorcycle poem lovers, traverse the lands, what secrets may be unfell upon the unsuspecting brow of the common man. Bludgeon them with beauty, clobber them about the head with beautiful words.