From the verses of Shakespeare to the violence of Football, a soft hand on the nape of my neck to a rim's hard rattle after a dunk, the mute of Miles to the rhymes of Rakim, Hershey's chocolate to a garlic peppered, cedar-planked salmon, Joel Dias-Porter's thoughts scatter like grains of black sand across a wind-blown beach.
Friday, February 14, 2014
Litany for a February Day
A heart shaped hole
in the snowman
Until next we meet, may all your potatoes be sweet (and dusted with cinnamon.)