In this mountain desert Winter starts in September— The air at night begins To bite. I am up late Out in your studio shed, The kids both cold asleep. The air still tastes of smoke But now the stars are seen; Somewhere I have found A glass of whisky. “You walk
Honestly this level of output makes me wonder what you're on, because you're definitely on something Curtis. Anyway, super cool that you're allowing comments on these now and looking forward to what everyone has to say on your poetry.
The seal has been broken; it is now acceptable to embed hyperlinks in your poetry to explain your references. The medium will never be the same again.
Honestly this level of output makes me wonder what you're on, because you're definitely on something Curtis. Anyway, super cool that you're allowing comments on these now and looking forward to what everyone has to say on your poetry.
Here's to "cold, determined repair" as I know the "That mix of wreck and glory" well. Thank you for these even if not necessarily intended for me.
Did Curtis just admit he's embedded in the future government cabal?
Sounds a lot like Northwest Nevada to me.