Crows, blackbirds
stay the same
stolid dark
but pigeons
lifting off
from gray asphalt
shed their shells
blossom open
into sudden
white feathers
Crows, blackbirds
stay the same
stolid dark
but pigeons
lifting off
from gray asphalt
shed their shells
blossom open
into sudden
white feathers
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
