On this high shelf, place
the boxed problems
you have not
Solved.
For a season,
desist
Let them stew
and scheme
Let them march
themselves in
tight little circles
on their shelf
Let them wear
themselves out
waiting let them give up
hope of your return.
there's a poem in every day
aka: The Happy Bookers
Artist
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
Puff Of Smoke Poems 