We meter them out in fire, scaled down to last treble-clefted flick of tail and trail of smoke. The syllables sag and drag -on winded sails, caught between embered teeth. We store them in caves, and sand -castles, … Continue reading
.. cuz my belief is pithy’s nifty. i’ll be quick, just one fast flick of pen and wrist. oh, i’ll be brisk. just one last tryst. small words, my bliss. ..
we’re happy to report that though they snap and snort, they’re all smoke and they keep it short. … Written for Poetic Asides.
He loosed my muse from hair to shoes , gave me the will for wubulous whim and star-bellied glee. He had the Rx for making a mess of noun-sies and verb-ootles. He gifted me with oodles and oodles of ways … Continue reading
thing is, they’ve made the most of all this gossamer spirit-song, perhaps longed for gold, but found the sunrise to be the richest of all. and now, their needs are small, their voices proud – all banshee promise, spilled aloud … Continue reading
.. We chase the algorithms of the breeze, form a premise for the gibbous moon. Speculate upon her glow. We have formed a hypothesis or two, or three, about these shattered scattered stars. We can wax forth eloquent and strange … Continue reading
, the world comes at us, fast and fierce and long and loud. we lower our voices, raise our (s)words. ..