March 20 by The Running Son
Poetry is the sea
or little buoys maybe, small island colonies
where elusive concepts frolic
and grownup men bob heads
like babies, eyes regressing back
to a sea swim blue, and a wake
of generated poetry travels beyond this expanse
straight back to you.
by Jim Aldrich (:
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.