By Owen Piper
It’s times like this,
I think we are changing like the season.
that strange spice you found near 82nd.
What, was, that?
I’m yellowed as paper for the phone.
I think I should call you.
Every few seconds the wind takes hold of my time,
stirs it all clean again.
Owen Piper is an artist and writer currently living in Paris. He works a day job and writes when he is not doing that.