Poems from edoublea
It is dawn,
before the busy streets are invaded by the occupants of their apartments
and after the adorning dew has coated the cold lumps...
I live for the sweaty, panting, terrifying stare that lofts over the silent crowd
in the moment that feels like a century
and what...
There’s a period of childhood in which we’re all the same.
There are no advanced classes or anything drastic that separates us. No teacher...