Pocket. A Poem.
My pocket is the doorway to my soul. Or it could be, if I didn’t clean it out as much. Here’s my ode to the humble pocket. Continue reading Pocket. A Poem.
My pocket is the doorway to my soul. Or it could be, if I didn’t clean it out as much. Here’s my ode to the humble pocket. Continue reading Pocket. A Poem.
Stand still long enough
time slows to a stop
the event horizon
Of a gaping black hole… Continue reading Hole Man. A poem.