Birmingham, 35 miles

It all comes down to this: if the blood red ocean comes to poison us all, brings in the end a slow and broken confederate retreat from the coast, I will sit on my porch and watch them pass, spoon the last of the cold, looted food out of the can, sick with twitchy dog dreams of cigarettes and burning the last of my batteries playing this song…

Photo (c) Lauren Williamson. Permission requested. Song by Rev. Goat, who moved to Austin after IT. Taken from New Orleans Musician Relief CD without permission. Buy a CD to redeem my sin.