I have a sleeping hand-
I can reach into time
make people spill
through an open door
and smile-each wanting
an embrace as welcome.
Taking turns, like
planes, to speedily-express
themselves to me.
and my body gives forth
something that busts
out of my chest.
and I am feeling like the
single, (most) adorable,
(as I roll into a
deeper groove
and ignore my
bruised rib.)
person I was.
Tickle your toes. . .
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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 ...
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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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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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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... -
I'll find you- in muted early morning light falling around curves of flesh causing ancient thoughts to ignite and filling hearts with fo...
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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...
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You, look out the window. See that there is more to life than what bangs around in your brain These frustrations in me coarse from there to ...
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My latest endeavor is to begin reading "Tell it Slant: Writing and Shaping Creative Nonfiction" by Brenda Miller and Suzanne Paula...
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dainty toes on the edge of this burn like fire. dancer. dancer. walk the plank too far let the ocean swallow you. cancer. cancer. stars alig...
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This is just a short note from me to inform you that after my extensive monthly study and subsequent written exploration of Psalms and Prove...
Poets United Contributor
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