gray clouds mist on monday morning commuters crawling on gray roadways. A new work week holds no promise, only repetition. Each day festers into the next. I wrote this draft this morning as part of National Poetry Writing Month. I hope to collect these works for a mixed writing media piece I am working on…
Tag: national poetry
sunday
the thorns of a new week crown through the pink clouds in sulfur-yellow shards of sun. each passing day, week, I fight to make this stumbling more than the sorrow of missing you, less than the joy of counting the days until we are reunited. Time is a two-faced lover: easing and stealing. Yet I…
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