Day: Dec 17, 2013
Rubble-Rousing [poem]
The sound of rubble falling down a cliff face
[never seen a face so high and deeply scarred]
fills the updown arc of my waking dreamscape
with a thimbleful of treasure — tocsinlike.
Record all signs and omens, said the hag whose
apples had been left inside my car (without
a single word of explanation, as it seemed so far)
and so I put my pen to work — a catalogue.
