Monday, December 12, 2016

Ode to a conversation

Eight thirty. One morning. Monday. Sadness. An incised heart , A Scrambled -brain with crippled feet ambled upon. Go back. Go away. Flap your wings Go. Do not cross. No entry here. Words tossed. a wave-rib cracked an amber  heart died again and again. Crawled back. 12/12/2...