Monthly Archives: May 2017
.. We’ve known all along that we are building something from nothing, that each click together is all part of the design. We know dropped bricks mean sore soles, and that the instructions are long gone. We know the … Continue reading
She’s bruised, but I can’t tell if she’s abused …………….or just camera shy. .. Prompted by Poetic Asides.
… We spin in gold and frank, incensed words; mirth. Myth. Ribbons of phrase, ink-stained paper hearts, the wrappings and trappings of pain and passion. We fashion our -selves in tissue-thin jars, the scars that come in silver moon slivers … Continue reading
.. she’s flannel-soft today, the muddled braised white of a favorite tee turned ……………inside ……….out. .. twiglet#26. ..
.. We breathe the cold, snapped against silence; the blue seeps into our bones. We raise our limbs to a cracked-open sky, the clouds like overlapping stones. .. wordled.
play magnetic poetry here.
.. I won’t try to fix you , if you’ll just let me fly. .. prompted by poetic asides.
“I’m the thing monsters have nightmares about.” – Buffy the Vampire Slayer .. Do monsters dream? A swirl of stakes and garlic and revealing mirrors and silver bullets? Are talons sharpened on the wool of counted sheep? Howl at that … Continue reading
.. Too soon, he realizes it’s use -less; she’s born …….too many scars. And besides, she’s shrinking again. Waning until she’s weightless, wantless, willed and whiled to sky. Ask him why he keeps at it, and he’ll tell you this: … Continue reading
.. The world is aching again, like a rotten tooth. I long for silence and the calm dry wash of a brighter ……….moon. .. twiglet #25.