Time creeps dragging its belly in the warm sun blinding off the glass and steel
Before the bustle of the day white light soaking the highways and shining guardrails
Altogether on the bus
Next stop mass extinction
National Poetry Writing Month Day 1. Every year I drag this poor old blog out of it’s coffin for a while and parade it around the cemetery for a few weeks with clumps of dusty earth falling out of it’s rib-cage and an worm eaten running shoe with half a foot and dog-chewed femur trailing behind. Sometimes I cheat, or I randomly post a batch at a time and fudge the dates, or I pour over a phone screen 3am like a vampire hacking out extra poems to make up for the days I lost. Well, another year, and I dust off the gears of this rickety old machine and set it in the April sun to disinfect. Is that so wrong?