wrists with a desperate
tingling sensation
all there is to do
is bind them
to each other
weaving them into
a coiled rope.
scratching my nails
against the hard bark of a
tree. hacking away
the chipping bricks of
bark. such a loud
shriek it's soul makes.
there it is the living,
vulnerable green
that weeps sap
all over my fingers
and pleads me to stop
picking.
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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I was just awarded the Stylish Blogger Award! (awarded by John Evans ) I was asked to write 7 things about myself,and to award 10 ot... -
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...
Poets United Contributor
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