I woke with the moon
The morning thick in fog and exhaustion
A swelling sleeping underneath my heart,
and pressing against my spine
I can only imagine...
Crossed in love, dusting the few
flawed flowers in a window box,
an imponderable falling of snow
begins in the town square.
It is gently scheming,
it is...
First off, my poem only shuffled the
deck chairs of the digital. Perfect
pixel smear into e-waste. No geography
except streets, wires, toxic dumps, etc.
Like a modernist...
