Jan 28, 2018
Wet sand in the gravely road
feels like ghosts nipping at my heels.
I wheel around repeatedly
and find last year’s crooked pines
fucking with me –
it must mean something
like that copy of Howl I found at the old bookstore.
--
Born Again Transcendentalist. Writing about life, death and everything in between. Editor of Other Doors. haroldpstinard@gmail.com
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Born Again Transcendentalist. Writing about life, death and everything in between. Editor of Other Doors. haroldpstinard@gmail.com
