|
By adding the next layer of water,
I feel the still distant, still coming
closer point of saturation; I always like
to start in the middle of our c..
|
|
funny how a house with one person in it
still feels empty, when sitting awake
carving out the colorful morning with a hankering
for a more fulfilli..
|
|
our very own song
an intimate a cappella karaoke;
you know all the words
to last discos, last days,
black lengths, the hours
of like-minds:
..
|
|
for a first night it feels like a long long waiting.
I am too far past any point of argument
or contention, take it all and promise
every single la..
|
|
on the very edge of sleeping I go
seeking with both hands
for your hands, the coil and the amber
at the heart of the tree, it grows
in the middle ..
|
|
playing the chofu game 5-2-7-5-2-7
|
|
to the conversation
(the mild many surrenderings
you
so easily unraveling
make flutter, like swift
and just dissolving rivers
but only my g..
|
|
Somedays I see myself in other
livings, the chick on the back
of the harley rocking fringed chaps,
hugging speed against the wind;
hovering in..
|
|
I am told I am wounded
deeply, so lacking prized
protrusions, the property of the
protagonist packing in
seeping-teetering suitcases,
all my..
|
|
short prose poems
|
|
Compartment 114
Compartment 114
Advertise Here
Want to advertise here? Get started for as little as $5
|