shake up my heart
and flavor your life
it is full of holes.
you cannot see me
for I am brow deep
in my old pain
and I cannot speak
because I swallowed
too much dirt.
some people channel
heaven through their
bodies just so you
can catch a glimpse
I want to be like them
but I cannot
for I am brow deep
in my old pain
and I cannot speak
because I swallowed
too much dirt.
shake up my heart
and flavor your life
it is full of holes.
my words provoke
silence I am the inspired
and not the inspiring
and my age
and experience do
not show on my face.
I am a drifter
brow deep in the
sea come and find me
but where you are you
are shaking up my heart
to flavor your life
it is full of holes.
i am sorry you are
covered in lines.
some people channel
heaven through their
bodies just so you
can catch a glimpse
I want to be like them
but I cannot
for I am brow deep
in my old pain
and I cannot speak
because I swallowed
too much dirt.
Saturday, February 18, 2012
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...
-
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...
-
strange tree, your flowers look like badminton birdies.
-
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...
-
My latest endeavor is to begin reading "Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction" by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paula...
-
Cal, For Elizabeth Bishop You are American gossip, Didn't anyone have the heart to tell you? You said yourself, you are fantastic and u...
-
I am the palm touching my cheek, and hiding my face, I am dead nerve endings--pulsating alive again, I am the little girl who cuddles viciou...
-
I took a week off from writing this lovely, to take a bite out of a creamy, syrupy, delicious chunk of my memoir. I have begun to tackle the...
-
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...
-
as I left the waterfront and I climbed up the sandy stair as always his brothers were first; to greet me. I've had past dealings with th...
I am a drifter
ReplyDeletebrow deep in the
sea
nice :)) and the piece rolls like waves.
This comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDeleteHi Kiddo
ReplyDeleteMeant to tell ya, you're up!
http://www.virtualpoetryreading.com/?p=435
Keep 'em coming, thanks! Moskaroo