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Daily Archives: March 21, 2017
… some things are not meant to be used. (unthrown stones, dusty mirrors, aching sky) but left to her own, she is simply learning the intricate architecture of these landlocked limbs. ..
… the rhythm of her metered feet is off and she scoffs at rhyme but these words still want to bleed so she heeds their call, s p i l l s them (sm)all. ..
… Give her a low and guttural flow, the way a small stone fits in her palm, the skip (of heartbeat); the burbled psalm of going somewhere soon. Shiver her the language of moonspill breeze, the sway of treesong and … Continue reading
… it floats up slow, like it’s got no place to be, no sea of blue to spotlight and sizzle. it breaches mountain top, climbs upupup, apricot fingers sticky with a new day’s hope. .. …
… scribble-scrabble your morning away, under a rising grapefruit sun. just like ………………me. .. ,,
(a palmed psalm) .. make ….(take, fake) a joyful noise (snicker, scream, sing) …………..unto the Lord (the morning, the mourning, ………..this crazy rising sun.) ..
.. long my waiting into morning hope, a hum of blossomed breeze ..
.. those grapevines spilled over into our yard from theirs, and my tiny people liked to be lifted up to borrow a juicy burst of morning with hungry crimson hands. .. Twiglet #16.