…. until
by the unseen things
of life's tether, the leaves
under the sky's hem,
yellow and shed into
the frail flight of feather,
earthing to stream,
and streaming to earth,
vivid no more but for
the rain's burnish upon
discarded virtue giving
a last beauty to their end.
In winter cold despite log fire, my evenings spent in toasting self before the peats dug from bog moss, the glow of gluhwein coursing...
A visitor, unwanted, knocks, not mine the choice of whether stays, eviction can’t now be achieved, so how to greet this one at door, now...
The Gentleman’s club (This is so wrong on so many levels) There they all were in the Gentleman’s club, all gathered together, the great...
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