By The Hour

I feel the confinement
imposed by these walls
trapped by the whisperings
of fluorescent white halls
the meandering spirit
that thrives when set free
tends to balk when the clock
tells me who I must be.

Read Full Post »

In The Air

The air is filled with old debris
What’s left of last year’s autumn spree
Brisk March winds work to cleanse the air
Odd remnants show up everywhere

Read Full Post »