Tagged: rural

even chickens know

our backyard is a

our backyard is a
patch of grass accessorizing
new york city, such

a small thing that makes all the
difference for our simple hearts
.
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y

the morning after

the morning after
arrives like any other –
someone cranks the gear

for the sun, checks in on the
chickens first, wakes the cities second
.
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y

on the Pennsylvanian,

on the Pennsylvanian,
the train whistle
is a shepherd’s
whistle, gathering
these untuned city
heartstrings
and pulling them
towards the window,
an oboe to
my orchestra
.
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y