It’s 9am and I woke up because I felt you, I tossed my body to roll over as if the unconscious part of me knew you were not even there, dreaming in the awake moment of needing you a fantasy is created, I’m sure you’re…
Category: Miscellaneous
Poem 21 — Letter to Shaunton the Poet
Dear LadyOfPoetry, I know you are well. Sometimes when I observe you in privacy, I notice many things and you can probably tell. Like you didn’t smile and make eye contact with the gentleman who held the door for you. I noticed you waved and…
dream girl who’ll never be #51: Underground Punk Show
dream girl who’ll never be #51: Underground Punk Show as i chug the eighth note along, i flick my eyes to glimpse snapshots of the crowd, then feel the heavy call of bass in my hands, look down again, to its centipede neck. she is…
To the Woman Who Died in the Ponderosa Villas Apartment Complex
To the Woman Who Died in the Ponderosa Villas Apartment Complex We found your blouse–the one with the speckled lilies that are so small they look like dots of un-buttered popcorn. I wonder how the belligerent eyes of the fire, its lashes rising as if…
home, welcome
home, welcome i burn chamomile in our den, lull the embers with the heel of my thumb, sniff the sullen warmth, its soft tickle like you walking in, fingers on my shoulder, to read another book. the sun quells brightness, reverts us to lamps. breathless,…
Hour 21: Lullabies
I was no savior, let myself die another tense image. of each other.
Phew!
Congratulations to everyone crossing the finish line! I don’t feel as though my quality is as up to scratch as last year, but I’m proud to have participated all the same. No regrets! Now I’m going to give my poor laptop a rest (and my…
Hour 20: Embers
burn through me. let the flames do my bidding.
Clean Those Hands.
Wash away the dust and grime. Surfaces pitted past their prime with dirt, smut, muck and slime. To be unclean is a grievous crime. Every year my task to climb scrub, scour, polish the rime. Between each hour no bells that chime the long hands…
Calling to You
Calling to you holding half a lung back from screaming your name or yelling through the ambiguous silence of a thousand leaves falling at once on this November day almost as if I could whisper and the stems of red oaks would convey that trickled…