 |
Too private to go into, too personal to forget...
|
 |
In a basket beside my daughter's couch...
|
 |
Money, Power, and Greed,
thought themselves an impeccable breed...
|
 |
Behind these eyes...
|
|
A sort of story poem...but it is true.
|
|
>>*<<
“She”,
You say,
“Is no one.”
When you tell me,
“No one can come between us,”
It's then..
|
|
This is rather bizarre...but loving an addict usually is.
|
|
A sort of nature poem...
|
|
The sound of the band
drifts to me
given carriage by lake water
and the summer air.
It's a concert all my own
as I sit
surrounded by creatur..
|
|
Shovel turns
these remains:
fruits once ripened,
an earlier season'soffering of leaves,
the promise of an aging seed...
The weather of time
w..
|
|
|
first
prev
Profile
Writing
Friends
Share This