Poetry

Irk Ink Inc.

It’s not the daily tally
It is the hourly trifle
The slight fright
That over seasons
And scars reason
One singular stitch
At a time


Published by r.Douglas

I’m spry yet retired. I reside in the inner city of a major metropolitan area of the United States. I read politics. I watch baseball. I hum along with the tune. I June swoon, and moon the bad poem. Post here, are old and new. Opinions are my very own, except when wrong.