Three Eights

Poetry in three-eights time.

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It's just me.

Friday, March 18, 2005

The letter U

Youth is gone when your back makes leave
And pains you, so that your legs shake,
And questions you, curled retortless.

Monday, March 07, 2005

Feeling loss

Small caperberries, sour and cold,
Lain in the bottom of the jar
Too far to reach without a fork.