Wednesday, September 7, 2016


From my journal (yes, I still keep one):

Sticky, moist handfuls
Flung with reckless abandon
At cars passing by
Not by roadside children
But flyers clad in
Dusty, diaphanous gold and orange and black
Kings--and mostly kings--no longer
Unless of barren planes
Sun-baked and rubber-scraped
...say what I am?

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