I dismiss my mounds of paper,
habitual piling.
I embrace a soft blue-jay's tail.
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Tickle your toes. . .
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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... -
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 but... -
to have sticky pins for fingertips and ballpoint pens for thumbs. then I could fascinate myself to you, and write away doldrums.
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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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our silence comes easy and there is much to it the commingling of our fingers and the swapping of palm oils and the nimble saltation of ...
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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,...
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Out the window, I thought I saw Emily pale, gawking. a green T-shirt. bouncing firey springs on her head.
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This is just a short note from me to inform you that after my extensive monthly study and subsequent written exploration of Psalms and Prove...
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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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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 ...
Poets United Contributor
cute..
ReplyDelete:)
I second that :)
ReplyDeletemy post was here
http://blackswanpoetry.wordpress.com/2011/05/05/poem-can%e2%80%99t-believe-it%e2%80%99s-you/
Excellent piece, very nice :)
ReplyDeletethanks all :)
ReplyDelete