Sunday, May 20, 2012
it's just a scratch
fear not. I am not all fat, blue, trembling lips.
part of me is actually blushing;selfishly pink.
I am at times, like I was when I was a girl:
all scrapes, all teeth, roaring.
do you remember me this way?
of course you don't.
you never remember anything
even though you were there.
Now the girlish part of me is hoping
what I've said makes you so uncomfortable,
that you itch in only inconvenient places,
and your nails lack the fortitude to scratch.
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...
-
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 ...
-
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...
-
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...
-
There is something spooky about me. I am certain of it. Or else why does the thought of you dying for me, somehow slightly perk me up. Bette...
-
So, I'm a sympathetic. But I've decided- Sympathy is reckless. A virtue; punishable. Look at the kind of behavior that it influences...
-
I'll find you- in muted early morning light falling around curves of flesh causing ancient thoughts to ignite and filling hearts with fo...
-
That previous December, a little voice was coyly in-treat-ing: "Take an angry butcher knife to your hair, and paint it the color of a s...
-
Such a sweet face. But she still doesn't know her place. When you read your poetry to us, try not to make such a fuss. It's difficul...
-
Out the window, I thought I saw Emily pale, gawking. a green T-shirt. bouncing firey springs on her head.

No comments:
Post a Comment