Wednesday, May 7, 2014


From booties to boots in a wide swatch of decades.   Only that love of red shoes.  Slip an accent of red into a poem.  Much like slicing a beet.  Or beefstake tomato.  Color is taste for the living.  

1 comment:

  1. Still I enjoy the whistle of cold wood on fire
    wild snow on the hill where they will bury me

    jimson weeds
    cactus brush

    thinking about which life it was
    we stroked the branches of a desert tree