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.
__
Post a Comment
let's not keep fighting the same wars their adjectives ...
No comments:
Post a Comment