The rising and
falling white
noise of a car
passing by unseen...
you can fall
asleep to it.
It glides
past outside
as the wind itself.
Inside, the driver
might flail in the seat
of his worst
day on Earth, but
the car makes the same
liquid noise.
And from here inside
the cool
walls of your home,
the Earth is tiled
with good days.
I'm back to writing a poem every day, whether they stink or not.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
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Blog Archive
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2006
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April
(29)
- Poem
- The Man in Your Garden
- Giving up T.V.
- Jaw
- Habit
- The Coffeeshop's Last Week
- Lost Things
- Driving Tired at Night
- Ecdysis
- Work Routine
- The Imagination of Fathers
- Ugly Days
- ...But the Rent's Low
- Poems That Fail
- Creation
- Hometown
- Acceptance
- Losing the National Debate--A Consolation
- Responsibility
- One Man Down
- Influence
- The Workers Wait Out the Tornado
- Violence of Mind
- Love Note to Me, from Me
- Arguments at Work
- Morning, Early Spring
- Night
- Weather Change
- Routine
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April
(29)
1 comment:
Sensitive and Beautiful. I love it.
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