grief came here
and I fed it poetry
every word
a great flood of recollection
so many false shops
the blind side of
the housewife
flitting sideways
with swollen eyes
aggressive fragrances
bursting above
the smell of summer
when his ghosts came home
blue verses
called from everywhere
you have forgotten
to sing
[This work was from the Cut-up (Jigsaw) Salon, July-17]
27 July 2017
Pleasant Street is a mother, baker, and poet, presently writing a series of neo-noir thrillers somewhere in the middle of the U.S.A. She thinks too hard and feels too deeply, and appears to be stuck in 1948, via a time-machine of her own design. She is dreaming up a way to use baked goods as legal tender. She may be read at @AreYouThrilled.
