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Tag Archives: crazy November
we outta here with our pens and our plans and our cramped-up hands and our scrib-bled dreams. these syllables are our last gasps and death-rattle rasps of lyric, lung and ripped-at-stanza seams. this means our scribbles are all scrabbled out, and there’s no doubt … Continue reading
.. We are weary star -chalkdusted fury fugue. For we have been here for hours and hours and hours, most of them black as night. But like this aching, waking sky, only our cracked-open places allow the spill and … Continue reading
.. There’s a last -ditch effort to our breathing, a long slow grieving process (progress?) that comes sharp with every sunset. We watch it plop into mountain range ocean spill quiet plain; disappear as if it never shined. We hold … Continue reading
… Eyelash flutter cool side clean, midnight mutter waking dreams. .. NovPAD, day 19 (still catching up, backwards.)
.. ’Cuz I’m about to go out fightin’, go out writin’ somethin’ that just might stick. Play me some blues, some funk, some rattled junk – and all that jazz. Play me for a fool, school me in the ways … Continue reading
… That lemon yellow butter sun’s got a way of coming up again a way of filling my cup again a way of being enough (again) to remind me that the world’s gonna be alright again that the day is … Continue reading
.. Indigo. Then ink -spilled ebony, scrim-spreading like a long slow darkened smile. Midnight, and the wink of pinprick flitting star -lings, and a half-lidded moon. .. November PAD, day 11.
.. You’ve been given the light you’ve been given; the life you’ve been livin’ wherever it may be. They’ll give you a bushel to hide under, a gray sky for muffling your song. They’ll give you a reason to run, … Continue reading
though life’s lived wrongsideout,sameness chokes oneness – E.E. Cummings, love’s function is to fabricate unknownness .. that we pile upon our piles and while away with worry and squander in our selfish pockets the more strings attached the more … Continue reading
NovPAD, day 7.