experimental literature
poetry
picket fences aren’t something I ever thought I’d long for
and I can’t remember the last time I saw one.
I used to live around a few houses that had them
and I always heard people talk about them.
I never really thought there was anything spectacular about them,
but here I am
thinking about them.
This poem is part of a series of stream of consciousness writings.
sitting in the office,
I turn around and look out the window
the blue-headed bird, the common grackle
picks through the mulch
searching for a meal.
This poem is part of a series of stream of consciousness writings.
A stone well in the center of town
long-abandoned
bone dry
This poem is part of a series of stream of consciousness writings.