Archive for all the stuff I call poems that I have written over the last 30 years and that I still continue to write, oblivious to the fact that they might be little more than doggawn atrocious in the eyes of those who might not know how to generate within themselves the bliss invisible.
Tuesday, 28 December 2010
Tree in the Distance
tree in the distance calling me, dreams beyond it forever free, great cumulus confusion stacks up; horizon is bleached wonky even, colours of the spring season
