I sit with my back against a wall
the last dancer has gone
strains of music linger
in a sleeve of silence
unsettled air
from the cuff of movement
footprints urge me
to cover them with my own
one more time
Published – Coe Review, Fall 2010
I sit with my back against a wall
the last dancer has gone
strains of music linger
in a sleeve of silence
unsettled air
from the cuff of movement
footprints urge me
to cover them with my own
one more time
Published – Coe Review, Fall 2010
upon the taste of color in a ruddy pear and my hands at the keyboard into Brahms upon people’s voices that pass without consequence as garbage trucks roll with rain possible upon trying to be less wordless as water runs in the kitchen sink and minutes fast forward on the clock face upon the blueness… Continue Reading