Vulcan Discs

August 7, 2009, by Homme De Sept-Iles

you first stepped on the ice to an ovation.  

three down the barrel
rolling when you travel
spinning when you glide
bye

there's no fear
there's no salt
there's no gait in your bait

french was all you heard
stripes were all you saw

they can keep their black books
their pencil-jot notes

you'll sky hole
pie high
flat beat
or swerve and seep

if it ain't beautiful it ain't worth doin'
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