False Nettle

I am early / the train is late / the image is ubiquitous as false nettle / poetry is a red cat in a sunny window / lying to get out.

By bonniemcclellan

Mother, poet, american ex-pat from Texas living in Northern Italy.

1 comment

  1. Like that, it is staccato. Thoughts that run one into another. Brain, Life. Bisous love you


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