spray of small black birds
upward
imagining themselves
wind blown leaves—
or is it the leaves
imitating
the swift movement of birds?
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spray of small black birds
upward
imagining themselves
wind blown leaves—
or is it the leaves
imitating
the swift movement of birds?
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 
I see sparks. A smile.