It seems so different art that moves me now …
Sydney Lea
Why not write something for those …
It struck them both as strange: although each pond and lake …
I remember that store, and the nasty redneck whose stink …
Our loons still scull on the pewter …
That woman’s husband works the graveyard shift in a warehouse someplace. …
My objectives this morning were vague. …
I found it in a box I sifted through …