soft hands on a tire iron.
the dog looks on, long leash
bending over cold, green,
green grass. lease renewel's
coming up. cars flash by
fifteen feet to our north.
the buzz of life is loud today,
to the brim. the car sits in the air,
the tire sloughing off its body.
Well, it looks like I've majorly lapsed on the poem-a-day habit. Not to worry. I'm taking a short break to finish the Balkey story line....
“What,” the young, scarred and scabbed Scib said, “did Mr. Pin calm him – Bixson-” And Balkey closed the gap as soon as the word left the...
Tell him Coral has finally gone sour and the Pin is as crooked as we all thought,” fryed Balkey and eyed the straight and tall, the...