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Ron
We are not alive yet. We skitter along the top of a bridge arch and peer over the cornice. It is a distance we cannot judge. There is no reference point. But eventually a native... More »
Ron
I guess everybody will turn Out like this eventually. If not here, then across The street in that grocery, or Out there on Jupiter, In that iris so green. I see three of them there... More »
Ron
There along the curb The tired dark face Of one of Us. A stray with a backpack. His blackend nails His hair, ignored. Sit here while I wash your hair, my friend. And I recall:... More »
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