end of July, poems
end of July — hearing the cicadas above the traffic ________________ end of July — dog waiting for cars in the shade ________________ end of July — rust on the gate creaks
Tag: poems
[there in the center]
there in the center where no time is the spot around which the hands revolve and determine their arcs
[bridge not ferry]
bridge not ferry others have come before me, others will come after me if only even in thought
The addle-patedness of some would be writer.
I have taken the few night medicines that I am given these days, and do some general reading until the words start taking on a three dimensional look to them. When they can’t make any more sense to myself, and to write is to never make sense. Then you must go to sleep. I certainly … Continue reading The addle-patedness of some would be writer.
white pebble 