a leave from the past
into a new world
without her cigarette butts
into a new world
without her cigarette butts
somebody asked me how come you publish poems on the net, especially little poems, lines strung along together, but they aren't published in the sense of final, finished, processed, done, these are the record of passing thoughts, language that has been flung to see where it falls, a working notebook in progress, always open to response and change and the process
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