Original EveryPoem Studio house-voice poem.
Choose a genuine response. Counts appear only after several readers agree.
August is a thief who comes dressed as a gift: the peach at its most golden
June gives us the longest day and we still waste most of it talking about the weather.
City of shoulders, Sandburg said, and the shoulders are still here—broader now, more tattooed, still carrying what needs carrying.
Summer is the season that forgets to end on time—it lingers at the shore like a guest who loves your house more than you do.
Because the bus was late, I watched an old man split an orange and give the brighter half
At five, the office windows begin returning the sky. Screens go dark.
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