The Flower Child

San Pedro Hostel. Flower Child. Saints. Still no sign from Sot. I moved into a hostel in San Pedro and began frequenting the old fishery taverns in the working class neighborhoods. There was a young woman living in the hostel gathered flowers and wild herbs from parks and yards near sidewalks and vacant lots andContinue reading “The Flower Child”

A Shuck of Stone

When the lemon yellow of a doubtful flower tells lies And the hush pink plum blossoms first fail to surmise A touch and a kiss turn to stone. When the steep turn toward the dark cherry dyes And find winkle’s wake still seeping under the sash A drink and a dress turn to stone. ToContinue reading “A Shuck of Stone”

November Day Along the River

How are you? You are how this is too easy a still gift of photographs almost like a real letter. You like flowers, flowers like you, like Peonies, purple green red yellow mopped hair Marigolds, red orange bites Red geraniums in a real clay pot and those little white hanging threading flowers, I don’t knowContinue reading “November Day Along the River”