new old kid on the blog,
with an occasional
old or new poem written off
the old writer's block
In a world drowning in signs this is a rope thrown, stark as it is.
Indeed it is, my friend; we need all the help we can get.
Then again, as the road grows dark, it's not easy to make out the signs. Squinty-eyed kids again at the end... unable to pick out the forest from the concrete.
My trouble? Cursed with having to fend my way through the asphalt jungle with four eyes, I always suffered to see double.