This land is heavy with sleeping generations Of young forefathers who thrust back the hills And cleared their pastures of blackberry blossoms, planting
Levi’s needed to convince those who are about to jump the designer ship to buy their cheaper version. Their go-to was a man from the first generation of Brooklyn hipsters.
The silver point of an evening star dropping toward the hammock of new moon over Lake Okoboji, over prairie waters in Iowa— it was framed in the lights just after twilight.
Creep up, moon, on the south Sky. Mark the moon path of this evening. The day must be counted. The new moon is a law. The little say-so of the moon must be listened to.