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Monthly Archives: November 2019
.. This poem has fallen in and out of love with her -selves long before this sixth line. She’s daisy-chain tired and yet tried and true. She’s blue. And a particular shade of gray. She really really ……………….(really) wants to … Continue reading
Make a steadfast structure of the sharpest stars. Woo a storm. Then spill a poem. .. In November, we poem.
.. she’s neither new nor wow, but she makes it some -how. breathes. believes. listens to the trees. pens imperfect poems. .. In November, we poem.
.. He’s got her swooning again, dipping her toes in horizon dark, slow disappearing and playing her part in this star-stung waltz. He’s got her waning again, making less of her -self by degrees, crescent -cutting tangled trees and startled … Continue reading
.. This poem is ….(light) -headed to the moon to the corner to the ends of the earth. She’s putting the pedal to the metal and her nose to the grind and her head in the clouds. She’s got a … Continue reading
.. God’s taking full -flash photos again and it all rips open in a zigzag stab of gold cracking black in half, all clacking cymbals and flickered blaze. Our gaze is broken by thunder, struck by time, backlit by the … Continue reading
.. she breathes …………….oh, my under waffled clouds. .. I soooo wish I could take credit for the title phrase, but it’s Misky’s twiglet today. Come play!