Like varicose veins
in the thinning snow, the dark
tunnels of the voles.
My garbage is nothing
but coffee grounds, each morning
wrapped in its filter-shroud.
I miss summer:
those small millipedes that glide
across the bathroom floor.
Like varicose veins
in the thinning snow, the dark
tunnels of the voles.
My garbage is nothing
but coffee grounds, each morning
wrapped in its filter-shroud.
I miss summer:
those small millipedes that glide
across the bathroom floor.
Loving these. Aren’t you going to do a series tag?
Thanks. Yes, I keep meaning to put them into a series. I just can’t seem to come up with a title for it.
O.K., I guess I’ll go with “Toward Noon,” at least until I can think of something better.