I know that it isn’t Word Wednesday, but I woke up to snow in Southern Maine on April 28 and a lack of motivation to write much besides and endless stream of cuss words and other “get off my lawn” – ish grumbling.
So instead, here’s a new poem that I was going to save until tomorrow.
bon voyage holes poked in the stage curtain sky, shine down on me as comets chase their tails - money, in its various incarnations being shifted around the globe in elected electrons - down here, it’s steady as she goes while first class places another bet on catastrophe and low prices - only the poor bastards up there in the crows nest know for sure what’s coming - & we stopped listening to them a long time ago.