Tagged: trash

on these city streets,

the random knick-knacks

the random knick-knacks
we inherit are more or
less meaningless – we

keep them around as an after-
afterthought, collecting meaning
.
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at the greenmarket,

at the greenmarket,
a bouquet of crimson clover
in exchange for a

pretty penny. at home, a
field of red clover laughing
.
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y

art or trash, art or

art or trash, art or
trash
– the mantra
of those who
allow objects to
nurture attachments
.
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** in the absence of The Daily Post from WordPress, here’s your daily prompt: attachments

under the same sun,

under the same sun,
one man’s trash is another
man’s treasure, merely

teetering on the sharpened
tip of circumstance, edge of wealth
.
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** in the absence of The Daily Post from WordPress, here’s your daily prompt: teeter

standing at the edge

with little stretch of

with little stretch of
the imagination, the
world is an
oyster, all roads
lead to
paradise, and
one man’s trash is
another man’s treasure
.
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