Poems from gottoboe
Ah, Spring, I do not know how. You let all become plated with gold, yet (instead) feign a sheet of green. I could relax and ponder through...
(poems go here) waiting for recovery,
an injured Car licks its wounds.
exposure emanating,
as the Right Bumper lacks,
telling a tale of...
The auburn sunset rings against
My eyes
The smell of fresh-fried
shrimp wafting in through rectangular
canals of a bus
a cool breeze lifts...