silver-tongued wings flapping
bones split but connect to each other every few inches.
arms opened create flight-lips purse full of gold
words, please peak and fly and sigh and cry and die
words please break out like clicking, snapping bones,
like outstretched fingers-the throat is your captor
your body over mind, and mind not over body-
disconnect from platforms-rise above it all.
Tickle your toes. . .
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confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
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when our bodies clasp each other my heart lights a beach bonfire- and my toes forever step in it's embers.
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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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hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
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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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Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...
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RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner.... -
Today I was interviewed for Poets United small stone: July 13th so many things for granted, taken: two kinds of silverware.
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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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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...
Poets United Contributor
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