Tuesday,
Up again all night writing. Some of this newer stuff needs more work. However, not excited enough about it to work on it more. I think it's okay . . . But not great. So, here you go.
Up again all night writing. Some of this newer stuff needs more work. However, not excited enough about it to work on it more. I think it's okay . . . But not great. So, here you go.
GREEN
The sun will arrive . . . again.
Shinning yellow bright . . . again
through the kitchen window,
the one facing east . . . as usual.
My plants hate it when I write poetry
until five in the morning. I don't get up
early enough to raise the blinds
so they may bathe in morning light.
But I swear the ficus benjamina,
the pothos meditating on top the
frig
are far more poetic than me.
Yet, they don't complain or if they
do,
I don’t speak houseplant,
I can’t tell what they’re up to.
rrw o9-o9-13
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