windrag : poetry : journal

:: f : w : i : w ::

up early

flimsy sunglasses balancing on a cracked gourd a wristwatch wrapping the stub of a broomhandle day after day, who is it that brings me tea? a bathrobe, worn by a scarecrow

seen•unseen

the key–just like the one i have to copy but stamped with an ‘M’ on the other side i search the dream for the door–i don’t find it there but under my fingers in the morning