They came to us as crystal gifts,
those long yawning Sundays,
empty and waiting
for the spring wine of our lives.
And we poured ourselves into them
like children splashing
into summer swimming pools,
filling the day with laughter and loving
as rich and sweet as buttermilk.
A homonymless man writes shows what it's like to look up the laid he skirts when you’re lying prone(d) to the sidewalk, beer / joint / needle dangling from your hand /lips / arm.
The deep-dive literary meditations presented as stories, poems, and essays in The American Poet Who Went Home Again, A Mosaic of My Soul at Work, have captivated and inspired readers ever since its first paperback publication in 2008.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
