Sunday, July 24, 2011

Count Coffins

Setting sun, dried clumps of mown grass. The neighbor's mailbox, sullen as a mule. More wild strawberries please, I need to believe in God. Repetition is the key, so long as you know it's insistence.

Emphasis? Your autographed baseball is my melodrama. Count coffins kid, that'll help you sleep. My wife's father slaughtered a lamb and that was the end of her dreams of farming.

I'm looking for you - here - in this sentence. I'm also waiting for a bear. She chases robins whenever she see's one. Thinking about it only makes it worse.

Or this for a pass: he wrote he wrote. Writing is salvational if you want to see it that way. Visitors, gingko biloba, a pink bandana tethered to a crutch. Jump starts.

Milkweed. All sound has a certain shape. Thus I disagree with Denise Levertov who opted for another disability. Loosen your bonnet already.

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