everything on my desk is blue.
plus my shirt and my fingernails too-
because I am here without you.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
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...
-
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...
-
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... -
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...
-
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 someo...
-
there is a small leaf over your eye and yet you can still see me.
-
stuck-wallpaper, tickled, matted-madness, in the morning before matinee wallflowers at school dances just want to be asked. ask them. they...
-
My latest endeavor is to begin reading "Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction" by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paula...
Poets United Contributor
I collect these small stones and encircle my reflecting pond with them...
ReplyDeleteawesome!
ReplyDelete