Crossing over into Iowa on a whim, That dim smell of tin and stagnant water, The sense that somehow something Of New Orleans has swum upriver Like steelhead to lay its eggs here. What else could account for this strangeness? Sitting in the diner, odd images come unbidden,
In Iowa
In Iowa
In Iowa
Crossing over into Iowa on a whim, That dim smell of tin and stagnant water, The sense that somehow something Of New Orleans has swum upriver Like steelhead to lay its eggs here. What else could account for this strangeness? Sitting in the diner, odd images come unbidden,