Sprintedon Hollow

String of Days



01Jan83  Saturday

Begin.  Begin.
Who knows toward what.
Yet, begin:
to find out.


02Jan83  Sunday

Variegated shapes of grey
is this day's dome
we & the gulls sail beneath,
scavenging for sustenance.


03Jan83  Monday

And Mike B., momentarily
needing to leave my storytelling
to open the door, quickly instructs:
"Put a bookmark in your mouth."


04Jan83  Tuesday

I think of my dad saying,
after I had rattled to him
my peeves against humanity:
"And the birds sit in the trees."


05Jan83  Wednesday

The damp coolness
numbers my bones.
I'm a knot of discomfort
wishing for sun-warmth to loosen me.


06Jan83  Thursday

But the coldness stays;
strengthens to frost
during the night.
Although inside, I put on my sweater.





for copyright information see homepage     Brian A. J. Salchert                   

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