A Daily Self-indulgent Postcolonial/Feminist/Poetry-in-Progress/Culture Blog
Rain makes
unanticipated patterns
on the windows
like broken glass.
And on the street
windshields
like cobwebby ice.
The old man inside
is laughing.
Or coughing.
__
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Today was a day... especially for checking up on my Minneapolis people. It has been so heavy lately. There was the middle-of-the night shoot...
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