Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Nothing Here, Move Along, Pal

The Kitchen Table, a Laptop, Various Scrawls

Spent morngnag in beatufil disarray
then went outside
like a carny to throw
an ax into its beautiful prupose. [sp?]
Cold. An autumnal clay. Dear Diary,

I want to be a normal man 
who wears a hat when bombs rain.
For example, Jack Spicer.