It’s All In Your Hands
Poem On a motorcycle, zipline, airplane I want to soar down the snowy mountain I want to blaze up the trail Be young and burn this energy Get high off my own vitality The...
Tagged: poem 96
The Old Skyline
Spoken Word I was caught out red-handed The backs of my hands Stained with the drops of logic Since following the worst my city Had to offer All of sudden, the horizon and skyscrapers...
Young Artist’s Patience
Haibun One knee on the grass. One foot on the grass. Frankie’s hands work the eraser over the page. Then he sets the ruler down and draws again. All his complaints about no AC...
