a life, a story splayed upon hard surface. I think of the hard surface of raw buttercup squash and a knife as its equal. I think of a fountain pen etching into fine rag paper. I think; I walk; I cook. I write.
haiku (and not your usual 5-7-5)
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Can you imagine how the trumpets sound
ReplyDeleteillicit in their transport,
a shaken whisper of a train
too late to make a difference?