"cottonwoolhead" poems
What stuff is this cotton wool behind my eyes?
A knit of foggy fibers holding fast my next thought.
Odd when my mind so flies;
at the age of fifty three I ought
to relish ripe wisdom & cognition,
yet here I am, forgetting where to turn
just to reach the kitchen.
Jun 20, 2019
Jun 20, 2019 at 9:14 PM UTC