poem
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tear glazed, after William Carlos Williams, unwittingly so.
I watched an SUV barrel through a patch of chickens crossing the road without cause the downstairs neighbor apologized as we bumped shoulders collecting mail from the rain
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Bird Lady
I have absolutely lost my mind and for sure it is never coming back. This year has made a wreck of us all I’m sure; there are no therapists or tattoo artists with open books these days so I’ve taken instead to kitchen pottery the kind a home-bound geriatric’s descendants would relent to the depths…
Poetry | Journal 