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.
Tickle your toes. . .
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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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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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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... -
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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You are not the first to ache and turn green, ill from the motion sicknesses and poisoned canteen-- As you hike up the hill of "What if...
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Tangible branches bow to meet me Oh, how they bend to my will They don't snap; brittle and stale When pressed for comfort They never fee...
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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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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.... -
I am unique. "Fellow" Christians: I am a Christian but I DON'T buy into your right wing bullshit. Think. Then Speak. My"a...
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silver-tongued wings flapping bones split but connect to each other every few inches. arms opened create flight-lips purse full of gold word...
Poets United Contributor
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