The dirt doesn’t move
Unless something moves it
It happily settles
Wherever it fits
No choice of its own
Consequential home
At the whim of the wind
And men with their shovels
A Poetic Dive into the Creative Unconscious
The dirt doesn’t move
Unless something moves it
It happily settles
Wherever it fits
No choice of its own
Consequential home
At the whim of the wind
And men with their shovels