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Pressed For Time

It’s back to the harried life,
the one where I wake the alarm clock each morning,
rouse it with harsh reminders
of All We Have To Do.
I drag us through the day,
haul its ticking body everywhere,
poor little clock.
When it slows or worse,
threatens to stop,
I speak to it sternly.
There is no time for that nonsense, I tell it.
Then I wind it tight and give it a little shake
to squeeze out every captive minute.

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The Sketchbook


Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

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custom poems on vintage typewriters

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