take_me_back raze this banjo has thin lengths of rope for strings, its gold frayed and fading. you strum it without knowing how to make it talk. it talks to you anyway. in blue words it sings, "i grew up on a farm, but the guv'ment took it away. i grew up on a farm, but the guv'ment took it away. now there ain't no point making fourteen dollars every day." your voice becomes my voice, becomes a voice older than all our shared years, becomes the dirt our ancestors felt beneath the balls of their callused feet when the sun was a villain eating all the scenery and sleep was something steep to drown in. there's a metal plate in my head. if i fall and dent it just right, i can go back in time sixteen years. but if i had my way, i'd go back farther than that. i'd go back to a time before i was born. i'd see everything that made the people who made me. then i'd have something to sing about. 210922 what's it to you? who go blather from