The paper arrives with its newsprint rain.
The world is sodden with happening. My throat is dry.
I scan the horoscopes, circle the futures I like.
Unfolded, the silence is as wide as my arms.
Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing wax -- Of cabbages -- and kings -- And why the sea is boiling hot -- And whether pigs have wings.
1 comment:
"I scan the horoscopes, circle the futures I like."
I once knew a guy who did that.
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