Poems from Augusta
My pen does not work, does not function; lacks virtue as my brain screams at my eyes screams at my mind and the world in numbers: flipped...
The orange and smoky sky, starless, warms the grey look of the world. I have found my nothing in my head. The landscape of the Wild West...
Leaves turn to Autumn to hear her colored call
Do not falter, aging leaves, though you stand on the prescipice of prime youth and a state...