wrists with a desperate
tingling sensation
all there is to do
is bind them
to each other
weaving them into
a coiled rope.
scratching my nails
against the hard bark of a
tree. hacking away
the chipping bricks of
bark. such a loud
shriek it's soul makes.
there it is the living,
vulnerable green
that weeps sap
all over my fingers
and pleads me to stop
picking.
Tickle your toes. . .
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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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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.... -
Another Indian woman living on our block has hair swept back and braided has jeweled toes, is in all yellow traditional regalia, and walks w...
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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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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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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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nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...
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Under a blanket it was at high altitudes in love or nauseous? I once held his hand his touch was so soothing-but with a lion's face. and...
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confession is all: it is what my poetry is, and that is my life.
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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...
Poets United Contributor
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