Monthly Archives: April 2017

de: ja vu

.. there’s a very good chance she’s gonna write something. turn a phrase around on her tongue until it tastes just right. never sneeze only once. have the hiccups daily. call the sky her friend. fall in love with the … Continue reading

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The Way We Spill

… We fill ourselves with ink and sighs, pull parchment from the nearest tree. Clack keys. Please: here’s my heart. Can you read it? Hold it softly. It tears. It’s salty and sometimes it swears. It’s got cracks. See the … Continue reading

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Partic(ip)le Wave Dualism

… They’re going. They’re shifting sands, changing hands, altering stars. They matter. They’re smattering themselves in nothing less than always, nothing more than forever. They’re clever little waving things, winged cur rents, working theories, bright sigh -entific discoveries. Microscopic dreams. … Continue reading


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the gist

… she needs words. sun -shine. rain. the moon. the stain of ink on her fingers. salty, sea-soaked toes. prose. the threat and throes of the page. the slant of the sky. the laughter burbling up like a stream. the … Continue reading

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21 Grams

… We meter it out in heartbeats, giggles, song, tick-tock of clock and shades of calendar squares. Tears. We stare at walls, wonder what is level (tiny bubble of water, centered.) Point true north and go every which way. Loose. … Continue reading

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On Wheelbarrows and Plums

… A wheelbarrow may be some -thing upon which much(ness) depends, but it is not my nom de plume, not that last plum you ate that was so cold. It has but one wheel, and a tendency for tipping over, … Continue reading

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… perhaps, this is (definitelyprobablymaybe) the second to last (to last to last) ………………(too fast) poem i shall ever pen , she tells herself. ……………………..and laughs.     .. prompted by toads.       

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Scented Ink

… I write in rain and coffee stained half-moon paper smiles. The cloy and cling of past -life sting smoke. The perfumed poke of pine. The desert after a storm. The smell of snow and silence. Indigo flow and old … Continue reading

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The Monster Under the Bed

.. He’s well fed, what with all the cookie crumbs and occasional pieces of cheese. But please, don’t wake him too soon. He’s exceedingly grumpy until at least noon. And whatever you do, don’t sing. When given just the ghost … Continue reading

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Din & ’Tonic

.. This poem has no home. It’s not known for throne nor stones or SnoCones. It’s quick, just a schtick to get things flowing, get things growing, get things knowing the right pace for their race, their small place in … Continue reading

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