another day box-like in progression, predictability, oh inflexibility of time– I’d rather an ocean I’d rather that ocean sound that imperfect rhythm constant yet somehow revelatory I know the pilgrim changes it’s not the pilgrimage per se but things are always more tolerable somewhere else
Cool morning rain on the cusp of summer, on cobblestones and chairs and tables, water beading up on the laquer. So welcome sometimes, the dissenting voice– a change, a sea change, for better or worse it arrives like an empty plaza, this is the setting, the play can begin
A sun-drunk yesterday on late-season heat, even though it doesn’t clear Madison street in the evenings anymore, and gets cooler earlier, the sky gone staticky, the shadowy grains saying go home, no reason to stay here, just another thing gone, and paltry remainders.
OPTIONAL POETRY 