Trudging up the stairs
second shift worker gets home,
wet shoes by the door.
Trudging up the stairs
second shift worker gets home,
wet shoes by the door.
I’ve realized, after all these crazy years, that I write in layers.
I write the foundation, and then I go over it was a icing knife, filling in the cracks.
Then I go bake a savory layer and daub it in place with a layer of jelly.
Then I bake a sweet layer and smear more icing on it to sticks to the other layers.
And my propensity is to hand out slices of the cake I’ve written, before all the layers are place.
(Friends sharing the batter left on the side the bowl is okay, though, isn’t it?).
How can I miss a
sea rushing wildly from shore
or words never said
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