Migrating Season

Fifth time in five years and like always days dragged their feet then sprinted, until with the shrivelled fruit of August I am sweating boxes, dripping saucepans to another crater of this city. Heat bears down, desk fan churns but missing this place? Its panorama of bins, the guy who daily examines his dick, thickContinue reading “Migrating Season”

Another Art

Little by little I am learning the art of wasting time, the marathon of days.   Cycling slower, stopping almost to bide time with hives of wisteria and pink petal shavings, like candy floss in the gutter.   Then going farther faster  limbs burning  lungs unfolding  palms like oysters  on melted ice clasped but curdling as they beginContinue reading “Another Art”