#329 The Evening Gown

I am going through a lean
period. Words do not
make sense or hang
together the way they
should. At night I watch

the stars. They should be
easy to describe. A single
word, a simple phrase.
Instead they are all the
same even though I give

them separate names.
Thousands die by day.
They all have the same
name. Famine & firefights
in countries that were once

romantic, that poets passed
through on their way to
somewhere else. I read a-
bout them even though the
words do not make sense,

run together in a way they
should never do. Stars
do not come out. I give
the spaces separate names.
They are all anonymous.