top of page

In the Time of Virus

Series of poems exchanged between poets via e-mail

an errand from Gaia, my keep or so it seems, blue notes a musical with Fred and you'd think Ginger but Rita moves instead tippy taps us a new life over the old tells us that creams our new beginnings in the death of black and white and its dearth of color coordination balloons let go in Hollywood(land) old-school dance to rest upon our oceans would breathe us all in (and has) dances us across our currently fiat fling for non-existent gold (as it does) giving us gardens to hold dear as if we had it really for keeping, for believing as if big rocks never fell from the sky from the nevermind nor ever could be our baskets of Truth whatever seems to make us soil ourselves - Dave Ashmore

4 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All


bottom of page