wrinkled hands
adding traditional flavor
to the pickle
converging into a point
the distance
I travelled
wrinkled hands
adding traditional flavor
to the pickle
converging into a point
the distance
I travelled
long haul gravel in the truck driver’s voice
political rhetoric
the face of a glacier
calves into the sea
her voluptuous curves heirloom tomato
lockdown . . .
the only friend I have
old radio
rush hour
my eyes stick
to the tower clock
constipation
a mosquito
in the restroom
lazy day . . .
ironing to
my favourite song
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