After looking at the Hart Crane memorial sculpture,
I vomited into the Cuyahoga River
because I had too much cannoli at Sainato’s.
Even with a broken foot, I climbed Brandywine trails
to look down upon boulders the size of Megalodon skulls,
which are landscaping rust belt conservation areas.
One of my worst fears
is being too faint of heart,
in regards to myself.
A raccoon scuttered into pink shrubbery. It can feel the rain without getting wet.
I need the same ancient intuition, like Emersonian ink being a lifestyle of velvet darkness.
Back Patio Press 