GK said nothing is poetical if plain daylight is not poetical. The lamp post on Alton Road was my turning point. Inside Ivan was upon his perpetual bed with MS, holding the dog as I entered the smoke den. How do you like living beside the tracks? We don't notice it. In the cool breeze of the floor fan I knelt and began. Poetry comes in all homes eventually, if but once yearly.
No comments:
Post a Comment