A well-kept bike, a stack of poems in disarray. The books on the fridge. I'll get to them soon. After a walk and a few More months of procrastinating. I’ll write poems too. Small ones, by An open window. The moon like a dog licking a plate. Mirrors Don’t know left from right. A group of dusk is called a vanish. The arteries of stars Do they feel it too, The quiet celebrity of being alone?
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naïve haircuts 
Oh this is truly lovely!!!
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Thank you! Glad you liked it.
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I love this first stanza. Sometimes it’s challenging to go back to earlier poems and revise (and then to stop revising), but I think you’ve done a wonderful job.
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Thank you. For me, knowing when to stop revising has always been tricky. When I first started writing, and thought I was Jack Kerouac, it was easy, I bought into his first draft, no corrections philosophy, so I didn’t need to revise. But looking back at those earliest poems, yikes, they certainly needed editing! I’m glad you liked this poem.
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Haha I know what you mean. Sometimes I look back at old pieces of writing and think, “How embarrassing!” It’s amazing what a few months/years can do for our perspective. Have a great Monday!
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had another read of this, Bob; yes, it is quite a remarkable poem; stunning title 🙂
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Thank you so much. I really appreciate that.
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‘the moon like a dog licking a plate’ : I couldn’t better that;
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Thank you. I’m really glad you liked that line.
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