The boogieman’s
got a plan. You

see, he’s not hiding.

He’s reading my
…………..diary. He’s

sitting on the pelvic
bone stones
of my old skeletons,
waiting for me




Prompted by Poetic Asides


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Cobbled in Ink and Indigo Sky

How many miles has she walked now
(barefoot, backwards, both ways),
how many days until the next rest
-stop? These feet are fueled by quiet

psalm and howling prayer, dared to
keep going by a sinking sun. She’s
shed her salt, her past, her names;
blamed the asphalt for scars she gave

herself. She’s done time in limbo,
elbows and knees skinned and stained
by silence, violence, violet blooms un
-chained. She’s still following the road

map of her own bright veins, the true
north of her long tired heart. She’s
startled the day with her smile, stum
-bled more miles than anyone can

say. Her playlist is a drumbeat, a long
slow feat of fallen notes trampled, samp
-led by moon. It’s too soon to tell if she
knows where she’s going, but the truth

is here in black(top) and white and yell
-ow lines: she’s flowing and falling and
stubbing her toes and spreading wild
wings that just might remember how to fly.



Prompted by OctPoWriMo, day 7 




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She’s de
to do some
…..{that matters}
today, de
-spite all this
intricate sting.
see, here
’s the thing:
the truth
is in the


Inspired by Shawna, who asked me for a “3de” poem today. 

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(a double tanka of)


her mama gave her
a balloon with Mickey ears.
no hesitation,
(fly!) she let go of the string
and giggled it to the clouds.

forty years later,
with a full inflated heart,
tired empty hands
and a penchant for worn truth,
she is still watching the sky.



Prompted by OctPoWriMo, day 6



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the best gesture of my brain is less than
your eyelids’ flutter which says

we are for each other

……………………………..– E. E. Cummings, since feeling is first


don’t blink,
i think
{i} love


close your eyes,
the skies


look out below,
the fall burns with



Prompted by OctPoWriMo, day 5.
Read E.E. Cummings’ whole poem, since feeling is first, here.






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mischief managed moon

her spell cast
at last, she
s   w   o   o   n   s
to an
ebony cloaked sky.





Prompted by OctPoWriMo, day 4 {belated}. 


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The Thing That Makes Me {Past}Tense

Screenshot 2015-10-05 09.14.45

Prompted by OctPoWriMo, day 3 (belated). 

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