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 way you forgot to count the months till November.
When we shared a bed, in the blistering heat--
You ignored those new blisters all over my feet-
barking, tired from walking alone.
Choking, dehydrated, yet chilled to the bone-
my car overheating no insurance, registration
now I have to wait for the train at your station.
See, here...
there is a sea here
it's here every year
dear, it catches every tear
it drifts too far and little too near
it's sullen, and blue,
and it whispers "I do-"
and
"Hey, whatdya say...
Could ya Stay, Stay, Stay?
maybe we could make it for a day."
Maybe we could make it.
I guess in the mean time we'll just have to fake it.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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The Anchor for Joel When love embarks, with its generating propellers slicing through the interminable oceans of imperfection that are, for ...
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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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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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Golden tendrils on her shoulder no rhyme, no reason, just getting older her half-pint work of exhaltation now serves as mere constant frustr...
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wide-eyed and curious, he peeks from his shell with seaweed speckles, where 8 monarch butterflies landed permanently. he puts his footing on...
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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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hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
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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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The Eternal Critic The light verses dark and the smudged and softened brush strokes suggests to me it is, as always, religious propaganda of...
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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, ...
As always, your descriptions place me in the middle of every scene. The energetic rhyming scheme in this poem accentuates every emotion. Love it!
ReplyDeleteThanks Judith! :)
ReplyDeleteYes, I feel tossed into a story, like a sloop on the sea wondering how it will all end~
ReplyDelete