Thursday, December 23, 2010

old poem

In preparation for a book length publication, I'm riffling through and revisiting old songs, old friends:

the cottage

The pens here have all dried out.

This season makes me sneeze.

This time it's really the weather.


I drew our lives on my leg this afternoon while you were swimming.

I was going to show you as you were toweling yourself off.

But something came up.


Later, my catalyst was this book.

It had your initials inside.

We didn't speak for hours.


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