by Erik Moyer
It starts with a sinking feeling,
pennies slowly unpinched.
They pool like sentimentals
in a dented box, head hung
and eyes down, a pink slip
wadded in your pocket. Continue reading
by Erik Moyer
It starts with a sinking feeling,
pennies slowly unpinched.
They pool like sentimentals
in a dented box, head hung
and eyes down, a pink slip
wadded in your pocket. Continue reading
Filed under Poetry