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Weary of glass (ceilings, slippers, houses) ,we turn ourselves to stone instead, our bare feet mud-luscious in their riverbeds. We pebble stories, toss them in. The moon’s a diamond we are tired of rolling uphill,so we cut her into slices and shine. It’s Quadrille Monday at dVerse, and I’m hosting. … Continue reading
the year has taken much, and left us hollow. we count sorrowson both hands and watchthe cold doors close. i suppose of all these wayward things, i miss my -self the most. i search the sky for rain and other groovy ghosts. It’s Quadrille Monday … Continue reading
Tin man’s on the hunt again. She stole his Oz -heart, wrenched it from his metal chest and smashed it all to bits. It’s amazing really, how soon these creaky limbs bounce back, on track, reach for something new. Glue-thick as thieves. Red as … Continue reading
we are reborn in these deluge moments,heavens cracked open and boomingsudden protest of all this desert dry. in drops of liquid hopefrom broken cloud, redemption falls from sky. we unfold our hands andrejoice in water only thrown, streams without stones. It’s Quadrille Monday over at … Continue reading
until legs and lungs are soreuntil you’ve evened the score with your busy, bossy brain. just get up with the sun and put on the shoes and choose to run away.
a bit abused,but still in working order. beats fine. runs sometimes, but only races the breeze. resuscitated in ’96, now clicks and ticks to the rhythm of true. slightly ask-ew about the world, and words. often absurd in both size and scope. a little tender, thin-skinned. inquire … Continue reading
i.squish that sucker with your thumb,purple-golden pulp oozing through your hungry hands. ii. chew your way through until your lips are blue and your tongue is tangedand tinged with indigo. iii. plonk! it against the wall an unresponsive ball once so sweet and so cold,now begging for forgiveness. Kim’s got … Continue reading
after we’ve said all there is to sighwe stand , scooping fallen stars into our cupped hands. written for twiglets. come play!
it gets curiouser and curious-er, her fascination with that sky sand dollar,that noble star scholar, mama moon. she swoons at crescent smile, a fine fool for full. you can question her about it some, but she has no words. only hum, and shine. It’s Quadrille Monday over at … Continue reading
this poem is a tightly wound spring. she’s a taut wound caught up in clacked-black things. she’s got unspoken broken and unscattered seed, unpolished corners and unmet needs. she’s a wayward kite on a fragile string. let’s unwind her now, and let her sing. Lill’s given us a fun … Continue reading