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 strawberry,
some dear, saintly soul will finally notice
you have some fire left within you"
Your eyes flickered brightly on the jet-way
the flash of surprise lighted by stop-lights
the roar of your engine ig-night-ed as you
shifted us back and forth. light and dark.
fast and slow. this way and that. swaying.
I would then become like spearmint-
red, and white twisted so tightly that
the colors blurred and clung to each other--
a spiral of some-days, a certainty of now.
For weeks after, I felt coated internally with
a sticky-sweet giggle, that guarded my
heart from the outside darkness,forever?--
it would, however, begin to creep back in
as disapointment
would eventually
unravel the spiral and
roll back to my empty front door.
Tickle your toes. . .
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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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I swing in a mini skirt and pill box hat, cat-eyes and pompadour hair, wild in my Stiletto-heeled shoes- and I skulk in a monk dress with th...
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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...
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This week has allowed me to get back in the swing of things to use a cliche that I adore. This particular cliche allows me to be vague with ...
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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... -
Happy April. I am currently working on this month's series "you don't remember anything, even though you were there." ov...
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where I'm coming from- you cannot "see"-self-blinded- and not listening.
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all is up. a dreamy boy fills your legs with such a torso- he acts like your tongue is hard candy- and the crust in your eyes is cinnamon.
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Working on my book as of late. A good 1/4 of it is finished. Will update with more information closer to publication.
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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...
Poets United Contributor
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