Poems and Junk
Pretentiousness in 17 Syllables ( The Haiku Section)
attrited rivers,
absent radience follows
glee in fallen feet Ω
Prose (but I’m not a pro)
At night, all asphalt looks the same between the lines.
The differences between our paths lie in the periphery,
blurred by speed, and unilluminated. Ω
Flakes weave paths of argyle through the stillness of January Ω
