Written by: JW Fellers

Heat turns the Prairie into waves like an ocean. Churin’ grass in a rollin’ fluid motion. As the wind blown waves crossest an ember sea, An’ the Sage Brush bends without a knee. Heat draws moisture an’ pools it on the horizon. The Prairies’ floor cracks as heat vapors are arisin’. Hypnotized by the rhythmic moan of a windmill, Tumbleweeds roll; an’ roll by still. Like stars, thoughts, fill the skies of my head, An’ age more than broken bones, I dread. As time covers the many moons of my passions, An’ the sun sets on the wrecks an’ the crashin’s. Nod my head, my thoughts’ stampede, I jerk an’ spur with a grip of greed. When I’m off my hand on the inside of plum, It’s hard to figure what-for or how-come. Snot blows past me, an’ sticks to my shirt, Off from his hide, flies eyes full of dirt. I yank my wrap an’ step off on the ground, I’ve made the 90 club an’ the next round. By Jim “Ish” Fellers Copyright ©: July 2, 2004 ~ Friday