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On the Road Again
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Keith Vient
I thought about going straight along the old road out of town that winds around houses, behind the corn. How easy would it be to not turn left, to go with the clock of the Earth. I thought about it many times but each time supper grew cold. My rocking chair is my throne, My porch my kingdom, and my swath of land, and the unknown worlds around it. It is summer again, my hands are dry, revealing many more lines than any palm-reader could decipher.
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