Sunday, May 27, 2012

wink

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 lighting. all of the sickness, and dog fighting and all of my complaints, piteous, wasted breath protests, futile. but complacency, death. and so I shall put this scribbling to good use, like scrubbing the sink, and taking out refuse. Maybe start paying off some of this debt, but those are the little things I always forget.
Posted by at

2 comments:

  1. UnknownMay 28, 2012 at 11:29 AM

    just a question for you, Amy. are you purposefully structuring these like prose this time around? i think they are good either way, but i just noticed a different structure from over on LJ. x

    ReplyDelete
  2. bttrflyscarMay 28, 2012 at 4:16 PM

    i just wanted to see how it looked, and i liked them better this way. :)xx

    ReplyDelete

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Reach for the clouds. . .

Tickle your toes. . .

  • John Wayne
    two squinting painted eyes looking solemn on a leathery face. this knight of the golden age has a 20 gallon bucket of a hat atop his slicked...
  • small stones
    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 someone d...
  • in dreams
    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...
  • write away, dear
    to have sticky pins for fingertips and ballpoint pens for thumbs. then I could fascinate myself to you, and write away doldrums.
  • blade of grass
    Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
  • small stones
    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 us,...
  • secrets
    our silence comes easy and there is much to it the commingling of our fingers and the swapping of palm oils and the nimble saltation of ...
  • small stone #3
    Out the window, I thought I saw Emily pale, gawking. a green T-shirt. bouncing firey springs on her head.
  • (no title)
    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...
  • small stone #2
    Eyes and skies a fuzzy crystal blue. A sunlit shouldered sensation and smirking hips and lips without vibration a scorched summer driveway ...

Poets United Contributor