Counting crows Jumping, sliding along a blue rail, The crow seems at home next to the half-eaten somethings On plates, in the open-air restaurant. Another one, cheekier than the first, lands On one of the white plates, pecks, attacks a piece of dry bread. The loud resonating tune the four crows make... Sign in to see full entry.
SANITY HAS LOST ITS MIND:
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About this Blog
A collection of written pieces and poems by Mark Pollins