Who am I to bemoan
the sadness of selfie-verse,
poems with reach that so exceeds
their grasp their own mothers would
be taxed – hard-pressed, at least,
not to cringe, but force the grin
of approval selfie-poets crave?
Dave Read
Poems
Order should be imposed on my poems, but isn't likely to be until I turn to carpentry, or painting, to carry me through the day. The display here is latest first.