The Poetry Marathon

the sound poured out the sink, flowed out the washer, dripped off my hands… surely this house would be cleaned

soft, empty, unattached, elegant, fondness… To lay like this is like bliss on the edge of my smile, feathered with breath…

don’t expect to find the straight line in a circle insane spin, although the image can appear to be near, you are going in circles trying to path a direction…

lavender and more, topped with that essence of gentle hard core raw love…

I am beating that deep, only in your arms…

Roller around and around while the wheels turn into the spin of the beat and then sound in some type of formation so that the beat is clear…

I met myself, not to toot my own horn or sound conceit, but I love who I am…

Whom ever said more than the wind on the rim of her dress really didn’t have much to say…

you may find me off balance and STILL, still I place myself in familiar and STILL, still I place myself in unfamiliar and STILL, still I am placed

Barefoot on the side of my walk…