You are what you read. And what you see. And what you hear.
I am Heath.
Who are you?
Monday, July 09, 2007
A Poem for Sunday
Afternoon air smells of smoke Burning rubber, tarpaulins If cottonwood were ashy snow Then dish-filled sinks would crust with ice New leaves pale, green, and sky hangs gouached While Bobbie Gentry sings her songs
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