#30

Devils’s claw hangs on
To my sock down the dry bank
Earth brittle as bone

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#28 - #29

28.
They stand in front
Of the door of the funeral home
They are there for another funeral
not the one I am there for
yet they gather in front of the door
I need to open
To go inside
and I feel invisible

29.

The night before the the last day of
Recording a poem a day
Is it possible
To make one
Tomorrow
Just so
For the last day of the month
Or would it be more
Interesting
To end with
The blank
Piece
Of
Paper
I will sleep on it

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