Dear Sunday,
And The Lord said: “Thou shalt stay indoors—for real this time.”
Love,
Kevin
(13 September 2020)
Life
233 (a poem)
Where there’s fire and a whole lot of wind, there’s smoke—and a lot of it.
Dear Saturday…
Dear Saturday,
There’s a haze, but it’s not purple…
Love,
Kevin
(12 September 2020)
Dear Friday…
Dear Friday,
I’m finally well rested and the air goes to shit? Not cool, Friday. Not cool.
Love,
Kevin
(11 September 2020)
Dear Thursday…
Dear Thursday,
Sneezefest is over. But now I need a nap.
Love,
Kevin
(10 September 2020)
Dear Monday…
Dear Monday,
Enjoy your day off.
Love,
Kevin
(7 September 2020)
My goal is that eventually the title and the poem will have no connection whatsoever (a poem)
Because, really, I come up with either decent titles or decent poems, but seldom both.
Three premises having nothing to do with the photograph of a man on television in Hong Kong (circa 1980) hanging on my living room wall (a poem)
Inspired by the cover of the Haruomi Hosono album The Endless Talking, plus a few stray thoughts.
Dear Sunday…
Dear Sunday,
I suppose awkward translations are better than none at all.
Love,
Kevin
(6 September 2020)
Saturday night. Dark room. Late-night radio.
This started out as a poem. But it wasn’t, so now it’s this.
