Gathering things into piles
we’ll sort tomorrow
is how our lives
grow dusty,
how all the facets
in the diamond of possibility
lose their luster, dim,
and wink out.
Gathering things into piles
we’ll sort tomorrow
is how our lives
grow dusty,
how all the facets
in the diamond of possibility
lose their luster, dim,
and wink out.
aka: The Happy Bookers
Artist
MOSTLY MONTREAL, MOST OF THE TIME
I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"
custom poems on vintage typewriters
One Poet's Writing Practice
A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014
Living in the moment
where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry
