I
There is a little car,
it can get us pretty far,
300+ miles, to not be exact,
somehow that thing,
it stays in tact.
II
The car's now parked next
to the lawn,
that's pretty,
but half overgrown,
unlike the piles of itchy hand-me-downs.
We still have nothing of our own.
III
I close my eyes, imagine
her dressed in lilacs
and daffodils,
I awaken, remembering
her legs are prickly,
and bare.
With scratches,
from excessive irritations.
IV
Her dress is covered in lilacs
and daffodils,
she is somewhere, dreaming,
she is anywhere but here.
She has her own footstool.
She has her own name.
V
Her face is painted pale,
faded blue, her teeth-
red bricks with bloody
mortar.
No one ever visits her.
Moldy footprints on the step,
-on their way out.
Well, now, here-
We are.
Home, crap, home.
Monday, May 17, 2010
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
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like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
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motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
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Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
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nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
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Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
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and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
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confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
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Reminder "You do not seem to understand," they'd say "That rivers are wide, and are not so easily crossed, we fear, they ...
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it's not possible. I think the problem must be- too much love and hate.
Extremely vivid descriptions here. I've noticed that is a strength of yours in your writing. I envy you for that, since description is not one of my strong suits.
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I love this, Amy...very emotional, love the separation and the tones in each part... <3
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