my lungs are sandbags.
full of stories.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Tickle your toes. . .
-
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... -
like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
-
motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
-
Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
-
nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
-
Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
-
and now that the anger is gone there may be a few more glimpses like looking out of the window through a thin veil of silk. a look in...
-
confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
-
sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
-
Reminder "You do not seem to understand," they'd say "That rivers are wide, and are not so easily crossed, we fear, they ...
Poets United Contributor
A curious piece. If every grain of sand were a story, you'd certainly have a lot to express!
ReplyDelete~Ms. Queenly
I love this its short but very powerful
ReplyDeletelove it,
ReplyDeletevery powerful lines.:)