The Mezunian

February morning frost ~ breathing smoke but… chimney smoke.

Sour smell o’ tomato soup & excess sodium… …in the wound.

Yellow February ~ the ‘lone stop where I read ’bout ants. E’en they aren’t here anymo’…

4 AM, hot winter showers ~ coffee pot.

Super Blue Blood Moon™ ~ nothing like what journos write about you. I look forward to the next super-awesome-you-can’t-miss-it moon that you’ll ne’er see for ‘nother century next year.

January is the deadest month. While April fulfills my thirst for rain, January is just frigid bones with no touch. This is an empirical fact. February carries pink love in leaky thaws; March marches freshly green; April fulfills my thirst for rain; May’s gardens sting with soft dirt & honey bees; June blooms with baby […]

In dark clouds, hides from darker earth ~ timid moon.

Accompanying music Bitter tea ~ vanilla turns out sickening. That which always was, [sic] turns up missing sometimes. – el nuevo J. J. W. Mezun

Heyo, ¿you remember when you took me up to that Taco Time on Burien & — No. The time’s up for your tacos.

There was hardly e’en an October. It’s as the ol’ fable fits: if the glove doesn’t git, ’scape your shell & throw ’way the keys to the public, private. Ssh… You can ne’er revert; you only wear worse. As you can see, these snowflakes on Marxmas Eve don’t click. Only in November, which also wasn’t […]