simple things
tHunder peels reeling the dress against her chest
light catches the sun in her matchbox eyes
Let's live in a matching house are we our mirrors?
I love through all this glass.
We are smaller versions of what we imagine,
bigger than this round round table,
rain finding the garden and the gutter.
"do not travel so far, my little red box of gloves," says the hungry, drunk old beggar in the street, quite unaware that anyone could now or ever hear him
light catches the sun in her matchbox eyes
Let's live in a matching house are we our mirrors?
I love through all this glass.
We are smaller versions of what we imagine,
bigger than this round round table,
rain finding the garden and the gutter.
"do not travel so far, my little red box of gloves," says the hungry, drunk old beggar in the street, quite unaware that anyone could now or ever hear him