Tuesday, January 30, 2018

That bug on your head is fetching.

A buggy scarf.  Why not?  No bug is ordinary and this one is pure magic with a tad of well-meaning mayhem.  Conforms to all head shapes and attitudes.  Keeps you warm.  Keeps you dry.  Keeps you creative.  Speaking of creative, when was the last time your poems gave bugs their due.  In the kitchen, what bugs you most?  

1 comment:

  1. She shuts down the screaming classical music of the radio in her office, as if to rebel against its propriety. This morning she needed its somber tones, its hushed audiences clamoring for the intermission. But now that afternoon has brought the chill down from Canada, it is only silence which soothes her into writing. How long will it be that the afternoon stretches? She wishes she could return home to the slightly messy living room through which thoughts and the occasional demand pass. But to weasel out of a commitment is not in the cards, and so out the window a tiny sliver of moonlight will guide her through the ominous news.