. i wonder at night which road you are on==mine seems here now, iam distaraacted by ticjk in my fur. there. he removes my collar and puts a bad smeellll between my shoulderblades and calls this “medicine” and i think i know what is good whiuch is the dirtrun. dogfree, climbtree. stuck iin territory too small for mesummer heat and often i lay on the ground, meoww on my back, and wait for petting to come by when before i would clawsteel because i was alive.
i donot know the science behind the woods or why there is wind. man mother is gone somewhere often and i tell we arew moving to myself because it is alread y written in my fur just under the bad smeell medicine .
i thought i was free
why the heat
why the rain
but i amafraid of windblades
and the inside toolong
are you free
Capote, I wonder at night which road you are on.
Capote, I thought I was free.
Capote, are you free? Are you? Are you?
I never found out who wrote the Capote poems. I never found Capote. Not that I didn’t go looking, but some things aren’t meant to be found.