Friday, May 18, 2007

In the spirit of Kerouac's are some short and spontaneous prose poems.

The dryer emits
a long,
high-pitched beep
to let me know
that the clothes are dry.

A blue bird lands
gracefully on the ground.
He hops twice
and flys away.

The children are nestled
all snug in their beds
while visions of Charleston
dance in my head.

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