Category: Poetry

• March 26, 2020

  Nineteenth Year

  i. Alone, most of the time, I discover jazz Find truth within, but not peace. ii. Aimlessly wandering country roads past majestic old growth Adorned in Spanish moss, rising above Impenetrable swamps, An abandoned shack on cinder-block stilts in the middle of nothingness iii. Many nights in pulsating clubs. I go home empty. iv. Someday…