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Category Archives: Miz Q January
.. It started with the radishes. Wily little blushing suckers; plop-popping up everywhere, ready to be plucked from the soil and ravenously ravished in spicy bites. We thought briefly of carrots, but thought better. Bitter being better, per -haps. Or … Continue reading
.. please, give her some (hope, that thing with feathers) ………….quill, something with which to scritch ….herself ……..sane. .. Prompted by Miz Q, day 14. Still catching up, backward.
… she sits under the bougainvillea with her books. swallows wor(l)ds whole, feeds her soul with stories. she cries when characters die, has a hardcore crush on Poe, and Twain. stains her fingers in blackberries and ink. she thinks the … Continue reading
… Okay, the horizon’s gone a little murky and the air -waves are a cacophony of argumentation and delineation and falsification and hate. We debate and we try to satiate our hunger with happenstance instead of hope. We grope around … Continue reading
This poem is the place I live. It’s a shanty by the sea, with a view of forever. It’s a well -weathered cottage dotting a crimson sky. It’s a penthouse suite, a one -room apartment, a periwinkle chalk cardboard box … Continue reading
Barb’s all frizzle-frazzled again; they’ve been hoppin’ since the show (Girls! Girls! Girls!) let out, a bunch of loudmouthed louts shouting against the sizzle of the grill. But the tips are good and her kid needs shoes and … Continue reading
We embrace all allies (close), and align our enemies (closer). Maybe it makes the heart grow fonder? And shall we wander straight up, fall far for stars and call our sacred selves astronomically saved? Shall the day crave aspen song … Continue reading
They’re pacing behind her, racing the clock or a mouse or whatever. She’s listening to the click-clack (tick-tock) of their claws, the pause that comes with exclamation point tail. The rain’s a long slow humsong; the sky’s a mottled milkshake, … Continue reading
There’s a particular familiarity to our unknown pieces, a quiet industry to our bold young bones. Take the strange and silent man over there in the corner. His song is at the cleaner’s, but you can take his smile six … Continue reading
7:02am and the Christmas tree’s still winking open the day, (de)lights playing against fragrant fir. she stirs, fuzzy pup soft and not quite ready for the absence of down. Prompted by Miz Q, day 7.