Golden tendrils on her shoulder
no rhyme, no reason, just getting older
her half-pint work of exhaltation
now serves as mere constant frustration.
I hold a book to my chest,
wondering how much time to invest.
Should I help her get her daughter to sleep-
for sure our friendship that will reep.
I will only be stepping on toes.
and this is how the childless thinking goes.
Tickle your toes. . .
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The ache in my jaw reminds me of my age, that I'm still cutting teeth on broken sage and giving up meat is my best bet, because I'm ...
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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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July 7th the face of a rose deflates our windowsill- not much of a garden. July 8th after the party- a painting is crooked I think someone d...
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there was once a combination of colors, that I thought looked like raised type-set on linen paper, but it's little but some bleeding of ...
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a know-nothing non-something, a song, a back-slap, a tree without sap. crowned with ceremony and melancholia- a whistle, a snap. a marriage ...
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my hands are cupped, held up to the light catching nothing, but it feels warm. my eyes squint through broken Coke bottles my future's so...
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So, I'm a sympathetic. But I've decided- Sympathy is reckless. A virtue; punishable. Look at the kind of behavior that it influences...
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two squinting painted eyes looking solemn on a leathery face. this knight of the golden age has a 20 gallon bucket of a hat atop his slicked... -
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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July 9th i feel like running again. it's either that or swimming in a valley of tears. July 10th you couldn't tell by looking at us,...
Poets United Contributor
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