Friday, May 13, 2011

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 in heat
all to my bare feet,
not a single regret.


just fingers-full of rings
and things and cigarette.
Posted by at
Labels:

3 comments:

  1. Judith C EvansMay 14, 2011 at 10:45 AM

    Beautiful small stone. Love the "scorched summer driveway" description.

    ReplyDelete
  2. bttrflyscarMay 14, 2011 at 11:27 AM

    thanks Judith! :)

    ReplyDelete
  3. AnonymousMay 21, 2011 at 2:07 PM

    I enjoyed this read a lot. I can't seem to find the word to describe it but it surely touched me, thank you :)
    have fun at the rally!

    http://lynnaima.wordpress.com/2011/05/21/in-the-land-of-pretense/

    ReplyDelete

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Reach for the clouds. . .

Tickle your toes. . .

  • Day 28
    in August for John Keats I didn't die unrequited. I took a wife in August. My wife was wearing silky white shoulders holding out her bon...
  • a name
    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 ...
  • Memoir of a Memoir: Week 7
    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...
  • Not Quite Sure
    There is a hidden warmth in you you do not show to others and it pulls me under like quick sand. Or maybe it is the movement of the sands th...
  • wh(y)?
    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, ...
  • 2006
    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 s...
  • rain
    Rain, dearest friend. You know just when to pound on my head. I know there is more to this world, than what I have given from inside myself....
  • storm
    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...
  • POP
    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...
  • stay, stay, stay
    August 2003! A spree, and the W.A.P another month of you and possibly me W.A.P stands for wild animal park, if you don't remember- the ...

Poets United Contributor