Essays on Political Violence by Sean Swain.
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The distant treeline beyond the yard stirs yearning too intense. My thoughts often escape me and take a blind run for tyhe fence.
Sometimes the lower shoots them sometimes the dogs attack, the’re dead and dangling sometimes they get away, just to find no place to go. But thats the price they pay.
You too may this window view or face the gallows pole. So if you harbor my fugitive thoughts. Don’t ever tell a soul.
seanswain.org