Morning coffee It’s a clockwork routine You with your twitching whiskers And pointy ears And wobbly walk You detect my footsteps to the kitchen table And make your stand by my feet Look up pitifully, eyes round, Like that one from Shrek I know what you’re here for But pretend I do not A little […]More
Sixty something working stiff (retired). Avid reader, dreamer, and searcher. I write poetry, short stories, and non fiction. Shades of the surreal, the horrific, the nostalgic, and the humorous. I have had work published in the Shelburne Free Press, on Spillwords Literary Press, and in print at Crepe & Penn Poetry.
Originally posted on Sudden Denouement Collective:
i have checked myself and seen that i am nothing; the bones of poets gone and done lay beneath the hills. i put on my boots and took my shovel, for to disturb them would be a lesser crime than to ignore.i checked myself and saw that i was nothing; i looked for art and saw it…