It's not the pen
It is the ink
But it is the dishes
and not the sink
and it's never in your eye
but in your wink
it's just frozen in the ice
not spinning in the rink.
It's your body
and not your clothes
it's the stuff
that rarely shows
It's just the stuff
that wind just blows
the stuff
that rarely shows
It's the stuff that the wind blows-away,
and the stuff you never seem to say.
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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Exhibit A: When this was first documented, I was more flattering of him than I should of been, but it was another reminder of that star-spe...
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where are my garden gloves to weed out your evils? where are my rubber gloves to scrub off your stupid? where are my surgical gloves to cut ...
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This week has allowed me to get back in the swing of things to use a cliche that I adore. This particular cliche allows me to be vague with ...
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i once wrote on the tops of trees, i shouldn't have, it was dangerous. swaying, swaying, swaying, dizzying. they say you should only wri...
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did someone die, today? most likely. isn't that a difficult thing? was someone born, today? most likely. isn't that a difficult thin...
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To those who forget Poesy, like she's the wallflower at the dance I'm sorry you've never known words to be like picnic ants infe...
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Working on my book as of late. A good 1/4 of it is finished. Will update with more information closer to publication.
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Recently I have been really attempting to delve into what it means to be a poet. Jim Morrison once wanted to be a poet, and look where it go...
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Though it hasn't been months since I have written and attempted edits within my memoir, it has been quite some time since I have reflect...
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there is a positive word here somewhere and if you are the sort who is repelled by the positive I suggest you sit elsewhere, to avoid being ...
Poets United Contributor
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