Lac qui Parle 1_10_2026

Wickedjohnandthedevil

I await a place in the north
The tiny cottage saved by the fables
They left the key right there by the door
No worries if a new visitor comes
There’s nothing here but books and a carpet
Nobody knows that he died years ago

My ears ring primitive sounds
I need to see the Lac Qui Parle house in the snowbanks

Crash land at somebody’s place
little tooth aware of its likeness
A am young like I ought to be
The preacher waved his hands to the sky
A murmuration rose from the prairie
And spelled his name all over the blue

My ears ring primitive sounds
I need to see the Lac Qui Parle house in the snowbanks
No space for polaroids now
Tack it to the walls there where he wrote it all down