tramping Colfax Avenue
collar turned against snow dusted
late autumn winds.
Memories
slip from my pockets,
so many,
dry yellow leaves
blowing away to dance
with those gypsy
days of summer.
Writing for over four decades; p.l. wick has one trade book
and eleven chapbooks credited. Published: from youth organization monthlies to
slick-lit journals, even outlaw biker magazines. No affiliations—barely a tenth
grade education. Please, never a poet, simply a versifier—a sgraffitist if one
will.
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