‘I don’t write my words for posterity’ by Stan Phillips
I don’t write my words for posterity. These vagabond musings are not created to linger in some “dry as dust” attic, to be discovered, covered in cobwebs, by some unborn explorer. No, they are transient, like cobwebs themselves, magicked out of nowhere, to sit momentarily, dewclad, upon a rosebush of morning.They are fragments of dust, dancing briefly…