There’s no time to waste on those who demand plans written in pen — It was one thing when I had a calendar without end.
Tag: worth of poetry
I’m in the stacks high as a half floor of the classics held between the pages and wands and cups. Looking deeper your eyes burn holes with the investment of tonight or a lifetime.
Her brittle old tortoise shell prescriptions Blur a head of softly graying curls He needs a cut, she whispers, always to herself. Anyone in or not in the grocery store line that afternoon. Recognizing Cantaloupe, honeydew, whole milk Lettuce heads and newly sprouted wheat, and Baby spinach asleep in the sway of her basket. A