there ain't no other place like you to roam.
where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!"
Dancing in the warbling "cryk" out back-
way out back behind the shanty shack-
and in that shadow grove they danced with me,
the muses -I counted three.
First buzzed revenge, a stinger she left in my side
and then windy rebellion my blue ears she did chide
and then fluttering slowly growth she finally came
and asserted that all three are one in the same.
Tickle your toes. . .
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...
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 ...
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 ...
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...
did someone die, today? most likely. isn't that a difficult thing? was someone born, today? most likely. isn't that a difficult thin...
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...
Working on my book as of late. A good 1/4 of it is finished. Will update with more information closer to publication.
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...
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...
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 ...