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Haven’t all the sonnets been written yet? There’s a game on, I’m told. The Blue Jays are flapping off the branches of old syrup-dried trees while the enfolding flowers are dying outside. I am inside now, shivering and cold and wondering if there is mold in the wooden room, whether it points to the North, … Continue reading
trying to save falling clouds from drowning in the puddles of themselves where among the murky mondays his eyes are gray storms slipping back to storms seas back to savage seas under glasses after a lifetime of not seeing himself through lenses and reflecting confusion bringing the thing closer to him him closer to it … Continue reading
the youth are the problem for they don’t know how great it is to be young and this obliviousness against it all is a problem of old for the old forgetting the old * my life is expiring mouths and tight throats spent grieving those who are lost but remain alive and around with others … Continue reading
don’t watch my feet i can’t control them either just keep looking beyond me to whatever it is there if only i wasn’t in the way knowing that life isn’t too kind to the kind and living which is why so many people forget their childhood when they weren’t so hateful and sometimes forget their … Continue reading
if only things could be different you say while doing the same things like waiting for a simile that makes everything make sense to you again like when you were eighty seven and knew only death in each breath and smile like when you were sixty seven with grandchildren at your feet and telling them … Continue reading
i wish to substitute sex with writing for the pen is rudimentary and has been known to fail to create characters in its splatters and the rush of a climax that satisfies only one usually and sometimes even then did you like it because i only do if you did the do too but there’s too … Continue reading
Mizpellt wurdz 