There is the cigarette ash,and the intake of breath,ingrained and harsh,a habit
No one ever says thatthunder only rolls once,
Refresh my glass?Certainly, I can still feel
So, I have nothing to say,no affect to cultivate,and no urbane niche to breakinto —
So, I once dreamt of a roadthat never circles back,and a jet that trails to different days,like a certain Jack;unencumbered
A trio of fishermen, nearby,noisy and beaming — luck, today, had been a tardy ladyeven for the already patient.
After a period of sabbatical virtual wandering, I have begun posting new poetry in my Medium publications again, particularly on ‘Parallel’ again. For those that have known me before, I hope that my writing simply speaks for itself, so here is an exerpt from one of my new…
The road is an unchangingundulation, thoughit kills the time
