1819
5.357
23.xii.24
cicadarama
in the bark
fall days
the creek
till dry
worldwide
tinnitus too
slight birds
to the mulberry window
none ever
more full of song
to keep up
come to mine,
won’t you
cling to a
tree
pick off
and, I,
inside for sanity
under the
adoring fans
still much as
you’ll remember
breathless,
tipple silly
till seasonal
with
at full
stretch
languid till
here comes
tomorrow
shiny like
the wheels
the whole
chariot festooned
stars up
also
Christmas lights
making a home
between
always just a
guess to be here
these few
pages left of the year
No comments:
Post a Comment
Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.