On a grayish green Monday, the afternoon is just one bird’s chirping.
Senseless sound with a pointless rhythm Every now and then a big vehicle gurgles by, clearing its throat at the congested, narrow street. Every now a surprised cycle tinkles and then quiet gets reinstalled…
every now
and then on a reasonless Monday, the sun is slowly departing.
Few stray strands of winter have slipped out to caress…..face, neck, hands and feet
The sun is an imposition. Makes you aware of your skin….the sun is of skin, the winter of sensations.
The sun is an imposition, the winter a penchant, every
now and then on a crawling, turtle Monday…there’s nothing to do but sit quietly and get accessed
by irritating birds, coughing trucks, wisps of new weather
