after
wisteria glints through morning mist. the neighbor- hood is damp and sluggish. even the finches must have been at the pub last night singing along with their pints
wisteria glints through morning mist. the neighbor- hood is damp and sluggish. even the finches must have been at the pub last night singing along with their pints
i’d driven with a woman through the boulders we talked of fossil art. i found her sexy. she saw that my painting wasn’t finished and right then i woke up
to the west, a cheshire grin of a moon descends gently, tending toward the bay a saxophone from around the block describes my sweet and welcome longing
sipping my morning tea, my mind is not content to settle within the cup but wanders out to play in the neighbor’s yard what’s that thing? what’s that called? what’s that!
monday morning, north wind clears the sky jasmine blossoms dance with plastic bags. preparing for the day, i shake my butt inside my bathrobe