Friday, May 27, 2011
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-back coif.
what thoughts hide under there?
with muscular thighs squeezing the stomach,
of a well-groomed,
with his pink silk shirt,
and his leather vest
and his neckerchief to one side,
and one fist asserting dismay
while grazing the hip-pocket
of his leather pants,
he is a manly figure.
Tickle your toes. . .
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...
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...
In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across...
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...
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there is a small leaf over your eye and yet you can still see me.
stuck-wallpaper, tickled, matted-madness, in the morning before matinee wallflowers at school dances just want to be asked. ask them. they...
My latest endeavor is to begin reading "Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction" by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paula...