Or when the sprinklers come on at night,What of the snails that trudge into walkways?sliding sludgy, retracting in fright all to bask in the drippy droplets or noisily, crunchily catch in my shoe, or sometimes.. sometimes even safely make it back across, all the way home dragginga nature trail of slimy snail snots
Tag: terrible poetry
On weekdays
why does it feel so good to dwell and wallow,and why do all the pretty songs make me sad-worthless questions that I use to deflectlike a windbreakerthe gusty surprise of my empty yard, there is just wood to shield my walls from this windy dayand the subsequent pressure of staying uprighthas all my sturdy weeds… Continue reading On weekdays
Garbanzo Bae 