stood open"
(Frank Bidart)
all that talking had suddenly stopped
eyes closed. darkness welcoming
the rest of the colors
which one
will borrow from the other?
poetry on a side. same with the rain
I feel like sending it to the backyard.
what should one do with this autumn?
working 9 to 5 from my own house
then working some more
twisted words
regretting that they even exist
someone is clapping obsessively from inside the refrigerator
literary world vanished forever
as far as I am concerned it can go straight to hell
the grass still standing up shadowless is
underneath the leaves
equipped to last more than the roses
catching my entire attention
as you do these days
