Wed May 22, 2013 8:48am Home
> Advanced Search
Advanced Search Results
Results per page:
Advanced search
- Poetry > Free Verse
He sits alone with his memory, talking to the air In a crackly whisper, like the texture of pot scrubbers Of a man who’s trying to remember too much Black uniformed servers avert their eyes, trying not to stare Keeping their distance from the Monday Madman Who always orders Chicken Pot Pie a...
