We're both writers but,
why is it that we cannot
truly express what it is
we feel without the recommendation
of a movie reel-
We're both writers, so,
then why's it so difficult to row
through this murky sea
of dyed blue cotton-
-the softer things forgotten
between you and me.
Why have we not yet had our fill
maybe because we cannot still
we cannot put things into words
we're just translating notes we thought we heard
our lack
of vocab
is truly absurd.
We're both writers but
we just cannot
say everything we should have said
we just have to put those things to bed,
Curl up close with that heavy weight.
Pretend it is not too late.
So every morning our mailboxes tote
another hastily written note-
or you let those things just float
and give me lyrics that someone else once wrote.
Sunday, May 30, 2010
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
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there ain't no other place like you to roam. where I dug in my heels and said "No, I won't come home!" Dancing in the warb...
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motionless sap. ogling your shadow, you have much thinking to do. has the potassium kicked you in the arse yet-and got you going? you a...
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like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
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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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Out the window, I thought I saw Emily pale, gawking. a green T-shirt. bouncing firey springs on her head.
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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...
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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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lean in a little. say it like it's a secret. make your breath sound like italics. click your tongue against the roof your mouth then you...
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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...
I feel like this was written in a way that I'm not supposed to understand the subject, however, after reading it, I feel like I might understand the subject better than you had intended. We should discuss this piece some time when you're able.
ReplyDeleteglad we discussed it. It's something you really should consider more.
ReplyDelete