windrag : poetry : journal

failing to be quiet, i eat potato chips and write a poem while they snore.

despite this winningstreak, tears on the baseball field.dusty afternoon.

early spring, a good day for sports–fruit flies gathered ’round a skillful spider.

if you’re awake now, look west, and let your mouth make the shape of the moon

it’s not the spring sun that cracks the trees’ bark, but the new growth from within