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. . .
-
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...
-
Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
-
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.... -
strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
-
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 warb...
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu... -
hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
-
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... -
lean in a little. say it like it's a secret. make your breath sound like italics. click your tongue against the roof your mouth then you...
-
July 12th My love's hands and eyes so full of surprise! he sees nothing wrong with giving me a synthetic strawberry.
Poets United Contributor
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