So what I did was swap out death for life.
I poked through and (for life was not all)
down in around and out again,
stitching a garment for every weather.
Author Archives: Timothy P. Schilling
Aspire
Linger
A poem that should never have been written, and yet it was
I rifled through the drawers of death.
I took back all my letters.
Death she never wrote me back.
She let me hang here ever.
Burning but not consumed
A scholarly fall
The leaves of all I’ve read
stir as I walk, reproach
me with their dryness, beg
to be tramped
under into something good.
Tarkovsky
I do not like seeing
A little man fried in oil
limbs in motion
stilled by the heat
Contact
Haughty
Bugs unlike birds
do not flee my
innocent
port and shutter
