Poetry
Sense is a poem with 22 ilkes ruins a carp of bothersome hand bells or sanded to round stitch a whole fundy sometimes that old mustard feeling
One crosses the street, ribs like ladder rungs leaning
inside him. I want to climb to God, ask and ask.
The streets are full of crushed plastic bottles.
I loved the words, the names,when I was a boy whenhis blue eye turned meto the muscular heft of arms,Winchester and Remington,
Let your dog runsee where it goes
what it turns upwhat it brings back
a hollow yellow balla blue baby shoe
a rabbit-skin glovethe thumb torn off
a shimmering star-ling fluttering in
Thirty scarves I finished for whom I’m not sure nights awake knit knit pearl. I wrapped them around my neck gave each one a name used the wool of rare alpaca llamas
“I go back to the hospital and there’s an orange on the bedside table. A big one, and pink. He’s smiling: ‘I got a gift. Take it.’” —From the book Voices from Chernobyl, as retold on the radio show This American Life
1. Saturday’s haiku is stalled in the 7-Eleven® parking lot 2. all night long waiting for Sunday’s rising over the un-burnt prairie 3. as this haiku forgets
His house is lying down. He is out in the yard watching it happen. The driveway at dusk is a warm blanket wrapping itself around him. The sidewalks are long strips of gauze
WINDOW To win. To do. To undo. To Endow. To bow. To wind down. To want tobe like the wind. To hold or stop the wind. To be made of glass; to shatter one Sunday
they were so lively gathering whenever possible to discuss phrases someone jotted none considering angst in the sense of it truly visiting they had so many epiphanies & the depth of the poets
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