walking beacon hill

reworking the poem what you will and all else. s. asleep by the fire, out. the beginnings are always ceasing up. i say "we floated the dented mailbox down the river / as if to say 'what you will'" but i drop off somewhere stumbling around in the winter woods. 

i intend to apologize, a lot. we live in caverns, i see today, walking beacon hill.