Poem By MARINA GIPPS
The weather is quite pleasant these days.
My new wife looks like my old wife.
Alas...I have started to drink, wishing for better uses
of the seed; perhaps in the embryo of clouds,
swirls rolling over the haystacks. But I remember then
the landscapes I have repressed, my unwillingness
to live a genre. The idea being that if you have loved
a place so much, you can witness its maker;
the house on a hill with a welcome mat
and no explanation