in every sense of the word.
why have clocks and pockets at all
unless occasionally I empty them
past all bits of lint and wrappers
past every squandered hour
and spend it all
for the joy of not measuring
and for the sweet relief of
After
in every sense of the word.
why have clocks and pockets at all
unless occasionally I empty them
past all bits of lint and wrappers
past every squandered hour
and spend it all
for the joy of not measuring
and for the sweet relief of
After
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