of the wee hours
chin propped on blunt-butted knee
loitering fingers on prudish keys
the fat hand of the kitchen clock
lobs itself from 2 to 3 and
I go on planting words
in the night’s loamy deep
chin propped on blunt-butted knee
loitering fingers on prudish keys
the fat hand of the kitchen clock
lobs itself from 2 to 3 and
I go on planting words
in the night’s loamy deep
We have sent you the cure for this insomnia, just now, seven pages worth,
but honestly the cure is much worse than the disease…caveat reader.