he’s glued
himself
to the floor —
I would use
a crowbar
but the neighbor
won’t return it,
only broken
glass, to chip at
by moonlight;
nonetheless,
I’m careful
near his tongue,
& he’s barefoot —
who knew he
had twelve toes;
now he’s good
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ayaladn 
i liked your poem this morning; it was something I found I could hold on to.
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that file we spoke of earlier, in that vault you call a cabinet, has it escaped your notice?
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I’m slowly learning where everything is. I wrote a short enjambed line poem with you in mind-not about you-but using a short line. I’ll get around to putting it out in the next few days. Other than that, I’m clueless.KB
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so shall I be ’till then — (a short note: I do not like ‘the end’; why do you use it, does it stand alone?)
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I’m not sure what you mean by ‘the end’.
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That phrase you use to finalize your series ‘Home’; if you want them to stand alone (& they do, & interact), how is that necessary? I have a
personal quarrel with the idea itself and its symbols, besides, you may want to
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this, for me, is one of your best.
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– don’t know what it is that strikes me so much about this line – ‘i would use a crowbar’ – but it is my absolute favourite –
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Do you mean for all time (how nice), ‘and who?’ already has some age upon it
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Ha ha!
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ok, two more; but wash it down
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