Friday, December 12, 2025

The Present, Open Labor


maritime fog envelope stuffed chock     full O slow train, O head lamps         the workers O decked out in reflection, O orange and hard hat     safety trained, bobbing breath         Ocean breathes wet slipping way to blue, to gulls, O bellow     horns, drywallers crack jokes         below, the concrete men screwing around between task     and the wrapping up, resorting         to resolve, passing time through yule and aching hands the open present, O children, behold!     


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Friday Writings #207: In Between

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