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David McLansky

New York City

David McLansky

New York City

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Autoplay

Momma had a clothespin bag
Hanging from the line
Filled with old grey clothespins,
The wooden, springy kind,
.........................................
.........................................

She lays upon the soiled sheets
I change her like a child
She looks up startled, she cannot speak,
But with a grateful smile.

David McLansky

Sunday, October 27, 2013

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Charles Monroe 28 October 2013

Writing in the rain again Dark nights seem to never end Electronically repent With a world wide web event Where we went off things we've dreamt When we wept-off tears we've kept For these dreams I haven't slept Not too many reach this depth When the Good become upset And the tape become cassette Everybody wants to shout it We just want to... write about it. P.X

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