.:.

Before my window. Breeze coming through, blowing across the stripped bed. Birds are chirpping, a harmonica is played, the gospel church sings, and the clocktower slowly bongs 12pm.

This entry was posted on Monday, August 23rd, 2004 at 12:08 pm and is filed under poems + prose + rambles. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.