another bullet…

Another bullet passed through shattered dreams that even stuffed lions couldn’t stop the football will never be kicked around again. The birthday party favors will never cover the floor again. Yet another dream of better futures broken, tossed, crippled, and charred, no respect for life or livelihood the mere breath on cold windows of winter…

A pot of lavender

Always, never, almost waiting? A prowl through the lavender, or perhaps, another stage of life, previous. How to turn back time when we cannot? I left New York. I wonder, did I leave you too? No baggage claim fixes what we wait for, yesterday, today, tomorrow, this evening. my cat Seems to be ever mute…