of what first day
of what first hour
a frigid dawn
with northern winds
ice blue sky
how one day slips
into the next
I have no knowledge
time
escaped me long ago
I wake and groan
like rusting hinges
crawl from bed
to bath
my body
barely erect
this year
I think
I will live
impeccably
like every other year
only this time
a little better
failing
a little
like time
like days
like years
Published in Open Arts Forum on .
I’ve been writing poetry since I was a little kid. I think that poetry is probably my native language. In my best work, I think that I’m able to create something that feels like truth. If you find something in my words that move you, something that makes you smile , something which gives you pause for reflection , then I’m grateful. I sell real estate from time to time, and in moments of grace or despair, joy or terror, times of wonder and gratitude, I sail about in my good old ketch , Further.
Further - a distance that can’t be measured.
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