March 15, 2020

• nevermind

  

  it's not a diary.
  it is a wind of blue satin
  between poverty and poetry
  where people begin to love
  only the fences they have built

  the cuckoo in the woods
  is calling like a haiku,
  the meadow is a pointillist painting
  the shadow of the past
  is on the sundial

  and humanity--oh the humanity! is softly
  singing in a broken mason jar
  a song of parting that never ends
  a song that can walk through walls

  *drawing by Allie Brosh

  • 8:23 pm
  • 1 Comment