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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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my lungs are sandbags. full of stories.
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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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a know-nothing non-something, a song, a back-slap, a tree without sap. crowned with ceremony and melancholia- a whistle, a snap. a marriage ...
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I could live in small spaces if the wine was fruity and plentiful and I had a window facing west. All of the left over money would go to org...
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My latest endeavor is to begin reading "Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction" by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paula...
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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...
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you don't care, even though you were there. and so like you the little exhausted children sleep through all of the noise, and florescent...
yay! i'm glad you'll still be here, too. x
ReplyDeleteCan't wait - bring it on!
ReplyDeletereading them again here and all at once will be an interesting experience - i look forward to it :))
ReplyDelete