running before the sun

{wakes}
………{shines}
{takes}
the day in another direction. be
-fore the moon sleeps, tucked in
tight and slightly tilted. before
the pavement heats and the streets
are filled with people and cars
and busy-ness and business
and all the nonsense this one
day is somehow supposed to
hold.

run one…plus a little more,
drop the kids at school and run
another two (and a half, or so)
and it all makes four and a way
to pray and say the day might
be somehow worth so much
more.

run apricot wine-sky drunk
and sane, feet and heart pounding,
endorphinate yourself into
some fantasy that this day
might be a little different. run

until that moon becomes a
crescent slide to somewhere
more blue, somewhere you
can breathe

…………………..all day.

 

..

 

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Works of F(r)iction



We tell lies
in the cellar,
sell our words
for tiny button
photographs
of time.

We’re in the
weeds, berry
-kissed
and a little
touched
in the head.

We’re re:cording
ourselves sane,
playing games
across the fence
between sigh
and science.

Flex those veins
with ice, the cream
(de la creme) vice
president of
op(her)ations, en
-fixed without violence.
 

..
My Shawna gave me a word list. This is what it wanted to be. 

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Stop Me (If You’ve Heard This One Before)



So, this poet
walks into a
……..{space}
…..bar
and hyphen
-ate hydrates herself
with a trochee or two,
and begins pledging
………..poems
to a metered moon.

Soon,
the stars are all
(g)listening, until
they just can’t
stop.

……………………Cue
……………………the mic
……………………drop.

 

 

..
Prompted by Poetic Asides.


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run two (point five)

……..{miles}

to feel alive,
to feel the breeze
on your face
and the night sky
on your skin.

say good morning
to the moon
and the stars
and the new grace
that’s ours
if we let it
soak
in.

..

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run, too

{just two}

{miles}

cuz it’s all that you
have time for. there are
kids to get to school
and all kinds of morning
urgencies and emergencies
and more.

but first,
run two.
just you.

in the silence of a midnight
sky (now, even the sun shuns
this early hour). in the breeze
of trees that whisper why. in
the sweaty, disheveled manner
of all things only slightly sane.

run two. just to
prove you can, just to inflate
those lungs and breathe all day.
just to say the world is gonna
be
okay.

 

..

 

 

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copper penny fountains {in which she finally uses all the words to describe something other than the moon}



With storm breath and flickered fear,
we open journey-jars, spill-skip dream
-coins into bubbled shadows. Dance a
wish, lull-curl-whispered across spring-surface.

The echo-sound’s a cued breeze,
melted shimmer-grin-ghost. A boast-giggle,
drizzled-green dawn. The twist leaves sparks,
still-twisted scars that pepper-cloud our longing.

Balloon economy,
rising.

..
This is the One With All the Words, for the Q44 prompt over at dVerse today. I’m hosting. Come play! 

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Waking softly, slowly



Every day’s the first
day of something
or other, so we
remember the blue.
And the blues. The
used toothpaste tube.
The scent of
rain, fading.
The crumbling of
time.

And
the way this sly sky
holds court with
tree songs
and dream
-bled clouds.

 

..
It’s Quadrille Monday over at dVerse, and I’m hosting. Come play! 

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