Echoes Of Things I Never Said

crumbling paint with only a fraction of summer left

anonymous claims I don't know him

money gone "see how they run..."*

*line from Beatles, "Lady Madonna"

afternoon coolness meandering through a daydream

head made of blocks and other concrete forms of denial

wall talk I hear the echoes of things I never said

house wren changing sides as if this were her argument

tree face the bark has an edge to it

trash day my final warning from publisher's clearing house