Tag Archives: Freeway

FOG THICK– A POEM IN FOUR MINUTES

A poem in four minutes fog thick that veils the August sky with gray but brightness makes me feel I’m in a spacious and a lively bubble. . . the freeway brushing sound. . . the soaring sweep. . . … Continue reading

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A BIG DAY

A big day. Or two or three. So much to do. And only thou and me. The freeway rush, the drives, the rides, the buildings that long ago were raised now, slowly, slowly, being razed, the future patients from those … Continue reading

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SPRING IN SOUND

Birds tweet shrill like the tiny filaments that string a twig-bowed drag across a too-small violin. The freeway rush, the popping violets– both signs of growth predicaments that fan and flag, just as the breeze-blown grass spurts in the spring.

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