OPTIONAL POETRY

The sky too blue, it’s impossible to think. Along the fence the columbines bloom in neon hues, split into alien chambers, spurs. Along the road, banks of snow, no— cottonwood down, filling the air with fluff, an invitation to float, a call to subvert, a paean to the arbitrary– although they say that finding personal meaning in ordinary things is just one of many signs of delusion. Still, on the radio three different times, on […]