12 Degrees & Skiving

what began as year-long challenge has become perpetual until further notice

April 30 – last day. camp stories.

Yes, it’s last day of the poetry writing month but I think I’ll just keep going while the muse is ladling out her stuff. It never feels like a sentence to write daily while that happens, and writing each day has bled delightfully into all areas of my creative life.

So… the last poem for this year’s poetry month:

camping
i’d take out my binoculars
check out the stars
be told i was a nerd
someone would drunkenly say
something about
knowing your place in the universe

i didn’t care about that

the stars are bright clusters of dots
to all but the blind
they tell stories
in braille

run your eyes over them
before they wheel away
and shuck from them
the myriad tales
hidden in plain sight

IMG_3104

Tell me wotcha reckon

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