Warren Falcon Poems
|281.||What The Orphan Knows About Light||12/13/2010|
|282.||What This Day Can Be Said Of Remorse||12/6/2015|
|283.||Whatever It Is, A Mariner's Tale||7/11/2013|
|284.||Where Dispose Of The Joke Of Bones - Minimalist Cryptics Sometimes Metaphysical, Circa 1981||2/19/2010|
|285.||Who To Blame - On The Ocassion Of The Deaths Of Robin Williams And Michael Brown||8/25/2014|
|286.||Whose Form Is This Haiku||10/1/2012|
|287.||With Marigolds The Sun Breaks Through Las Grutas** De San Sebastian||3/25/2013|
|288.||With Spring Arrives Blossoms, Bridges, And Old Kobayashi||4/13/2013|
|289.||Words Of An Old Poet To The Younger||12/22/2010|
|290.||Woven Little Mouths Many||11/28/2011|
|291.||Y U Blokt Me? A Website Romance Untimely Ended||5/27/2012|
|292.||Your Letters Arrive Fat||7/13/2013|
|293.||Your Throat Oddly Fish-Shaped||8/16/2012|
Even from my front porch
the rusted sewing machine
yearns for golden thread.
The ground assumes its portent.
The good of the season remains in what is left behind.
It takes what lays down or is laid down upon it.
You'd think it a kind of king of accountants.
You'd sink down an addition of arithmetics,
heartbeats, breaths, footings found and lost,
all the unintended landings of a life.
You'd think it wouldn't stop.