Along the Mississippi (part 3)

Footprints to wherever, below where I sit, on the snow covered ground.

Teetering backwards and forwards, flawed, side to side, straight line.

 

He had a zigzag step.

 

I died wearing that pack.

My bag sits above and behind.

 

Snow and leaves in between trees, far away from cars which pass.

 

NE fixed, feels like old town.

Feels like La Crosse.

Feels like hollowed ground.

 

The tracks lead to my location.

 

I have been here before.

I was here before Riverside.

I cannot swallow my pride, this river raised me from a baby.

 

Bathe in the waters and curse it for unclean.

Once a small stream now draws those which make steam, make money, make dreams…

 

It seems, seems funny.

 

I sit near this mighty mass of water and think.

Goddamn, I’d be sick if I took a drink.

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