Taking all troubles through the downtown fields of wheat
Heart swells with strangeness of strangers on the street
To make love the city all I can do is eat
In revolving romance for the world at my feet

In spite of all the traffic we all know the good weather
I walk in childish clothing and dream of purple heather
Tweedy thriftstore pockets full of poets I think never
Let a bit of poverty harden hearts to leather

I will find the Hinterland
One that feeds and grows
Keep to the outside that all men know
Fashion a crown out of dead grass and snow
I will find the Hinterland

I love lists of provisions of the gold rush men up North
What pure bread from fifty pounds of flour must come forth
I eat as much bacon and beans for what it might be worth
I need communion with hardship past for the asphalt on my earth