a poem for today, 9 August 2012
[a syllable sorted sonnet of nine sentences and its image]
The sun on a cold day like this is so elegant and charming, just a hint here and there to brighten everything.
Do you see what I mean.
The field has begun to compare true memories with rich false memories, and so far few differences have emerged.
Get your ass in my bed.
That leaves us with the problem of whether a lifetime of scattered information can ever be set into order.
Yeah, just noticed that.
This is likely false.
You can't back out now.
Beer is truth serum.
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