Tuesday, March 28, 2023



The clock knows way too well

Just what I shall be doing

At each bespoken bell

And what I'll be eschewing.

Taking out the trash.

Remembering your breasts.

Converting leaf to ash.

Reordering bequests.

The elm tree knows the time

Just fine. As do the grasses.

I've blown all mine on rhyme,

And still the winter passes.

The robins have returned

With noisy tufted tits.

I wonder what they learned

And where the big hand sits.

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