When standing in a garden of profundity
everything loses it's meaning...
and when stopping
to smell the
chromatic wisdoms
you are lost in the
overwhelming field
of academic poppies
causing you drift to sleep.
Alone and snoring.
Caught in the overflow of
delusions and allusions
and exclusions and illusions.
Transfusions of the bloodless
inability to translate what is gone.
Words elude you.
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Tickle your toes. . .
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confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
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I was just awarded the Perfect Poet Award from Promising Poet's Cafe/Jingle Poetry. I'm excited, I want to nominate everybody but I... -
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husband and I trek a mile for ice cream just for the creamy banana, crunchy pecans, and chunks of thumb-sized chocolate. shoes flipping and...
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Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
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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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Today I was interviewed for Poets United small stone: July 13th so many things for granted, taken: two kinds of silverware.
Poets United Contributor
You are a garden of profundity.
ReplyDeleteThree cheers for Noam Chomsky!
lol, jk...
aw, I'm Noam Chomsky!?! ;)
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