recycling day
i run outside to catch my landlady bernice to tell her that i dreamed of how to level her toolshed with pea-gravel, but i’m too late and the tea is getting bitter
i run outside to catch my landlady bernice to tell her that i dreamed of how to level her toolshed with pea-gravel, but i’m too late and the tea is getting bitter
everybody loves these sunny february days crisp clear light and skin-hair sings wasn’t it last year, about this time, that i saw you sipping the air with a smile?
for the gift of having enough, i’m eternally grateful corn tomatoes beans onions and rice– i vow to deposit them lovingly into the toilet with as little fanfare as possible
the walk from town is lined with sweet-smelling trees and everyone seems to notice, tonight– even the panhandlers. five years i’ve been in this place and many things still remain nameless
“It is most noticeable that no one was ever known to whistle Bach.” – Claude Debussy walking home from the store, by the ballpark, with my bagfull of greens whistling the courante from suite number 6 for ‘cello, i finish the movement, and pause, and then “bzzzzzzzzzzt” the end of the ballgame. in D.