Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Daily Prose Poem


The idea of order.   A routine.  Almost in the way that night follows day, a circle that doesn't come undone.  Except, perhaps someone, somewhere, steps out of line in ways the sky can't.  How the moon momentarily jumps beneath the blanket-cover of cloud at sunset and you wonder whether or not the sun has gone.

1 comment:

  1. Jump out of line, go where your instinct takes you, the sun will shine in the morning, whether you live for yourself or another, might as well please yourself?


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