Quiet, few and far
between them
minutes or miles
houses or hours
stretch themselves
luxuriously
from horizon to clock face
and back again
miles or minutes
something is ticking and
making a soft whirring sound
as it slowly goes by
Quiet, few and far
between them
minutes or miles
houses or hours
stretch themselves
luxuriously
from horizon to clock face
and back again
miles or minutes
something is ticking and
making a soft whirring sound
as it slowly goes by
custom poems on vintage typewriters
One Poet's Writing Practice
Photographer of Life in North TX & points beyond
Prompting new poems for Red Wolf Journal
A Poetry Practice
Living in the moment
where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry
