On Sundays, A cord connects The church down the block To the ever present sanctuary of my home, And as the praise band plays, Red rain falls before my eyes, Trembling.
I live in Phoenix under a white hot sun and wander time and space. I see poems whole. Images come to me in rhythm and color with line break. Previously I lived on Long Island near the ocean, where the mist and fog and thick grey air create a separate reality.
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