The Bar Ouf.

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The Bar Ouf.

A half eaten bottle of wine With an incomplete percentage of cheese. Twenty Five Euros and 1/3 if On The Road but for what it is worth: a tent; sleeping bag; blanket and the left bank of the Lot to sing me to sleep. The birds signing yet fade back to hooded eyed peace.

Neither have I lain here pondering the somethings of bird outside my bivvy and beyond the drums I hear sounds the wheels of fortune calling me. No candle today, but stretched out to await the dawn sing song call.

You only sleep when it is dark in the world. A clock I dare to see strikes the twice tenth hour and I wait upon the last blackbird to cease it's frantic soliloquy.

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