Tuesday, August 11, 2015

WRITING ROUTINES

Sun and simmering 
west wind—lightly cooking off
any remaining 

damp tang of last night's 
only faintly recollect-
able rain—

presently licking the gimcrack 
gaudy backs

of greedgobbled 
hordes 

of 
greasedappled flies,

which crowd dizzy hunks 
of plumpish sidewalk dogshit.
And to think!

he'd only noticed this—
exact same 
shining anomaly 
probably

sixty—no seventy!

times this August 
alone already—easily.

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