wake

February 21, 2007

They call it the Cry Baby Bridge
where young souls sing
for Mother Hen, Mother Hen. All those
lost ones who don’t know they’re dead.
Don’t even know they’re alive.

Stream of red by the road. But
they don’t just call from the water
under the bridge. Let them go,
go to them. Roll the car
over the ridge, into the lake. Wake.

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