Saturday, September 3, 2011

playing tennis & smiling at all the strangers.

lately, i've been dreaming poetry.
i find this most interesting,
because i've only ever written poetry in my waking life
under a handful of times.
last nite, i opened an envelope handed to me by
someone whose face i could not see,
though i tried.

it was a tiny envelope with a little slip of paper inside,
and on it,
it said this:

{every thought, every feeling, all that i am,
is a result of you, and is yours.}

i woke up and felt inclined to spend my morning reading walt whitman and walter rinder.
i was not disappointed.

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