Resume 5/7/15

using my fingers

I can count five-seven-five

to write wee verses


Fado 5/7/15 rewrite

spring uncloaks herself

lays down her robe of flowers

to warm the cold earth

(This is a rough translation of part of a Portuguese song I heard at a wholesale nursery from Elias, who worked there.)


Shelter 5/7/15

behind plexi-glass

they yawn, stretch, and watch cooing

gawkers on parade