A Notebook – Since 2007
We do not know
what comes next
peace of snow
or a three day blow
of more man made smoke.
Today’s maybe the day
the sun don’t set
we’ll grow cold
in a gold casket
the widow in debt must pay.
But perhaps a parade
truce hugs and kisses
prams and hand carved canes
heads bandaged with
white cotton underwear.
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The Coming of the Toads 