Tonight is Thursday falling into Friday

Poetry or prose… I don’t know?
Reading William Carlos Williams
He likes to rhyme within in the line
Repeats a sound, somewhere
Repeats a word, lines up the syllables
So, I count each one
And find a surprise line at the end of the stanza
They are key, to William Carlos Williams


I separate Yeats and Stein with orange paper a friend of mine carefully designed and then left and no one likes it. Green before my time, I kept it, gave some away and now it separates Shakespeare from Elliot in my black notebook where I scratch my notes in blue ink and wonder why people throw so much away without a thought. Do they do the same to their friends? Do they even know what one is?

My friends compose all the colors of the universe. I think in prismacolor and I have them all.