to clean up
another
accident which
is dog
shit
He woofs low
at passing joggers
runs to me
for safety
breaks my
Concentration
over and over and
so what?
another chance to
let thoughts
fall and scatter
broken on the floor
another chance
to wake up
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: Poems by Mary Kendall
A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014
Living in the moment
Puff Of Smoke Poems 