The first time
Is a pin prick
To feel yourself
You search your being
You are it:
Coursing through yourself
The second time
You search inside
Behind the corner shop
You find where he begins
But come back,
Stinking of rot
Void of thought
To feel what?
What are you searching for?
To begin ag...
Sunday 22nd November 2020 10:30 am
the balm of barometric exuberance.
no longer young, dissipates.
the dewy welcome of sun-quaffed green.
revive severed umbilical dreams.
the present with fleeting acumen.
ceases yet emerges again tomorrow.
the kindling of autumnal reticence.
genial kindnesses shall spring.
Tuesday 14th December 2010 12:52 pm