turquoise room – 16 February

So we dream of our Grandmothers, cross marked hands and unwanted visitors.

I had stopped dreaming of you, but in one glance you return…..so I cleaned my kitchen. I cleaned it thou-rally. I pitched a tent. I bent a peg.

You shovel and you moan.

“Alone Heal Yourself With Poetry. Compose And Re-Compose Your Songs.”