Tag Archives: crazy November

Curbside

  .. 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

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Squandering Sunlight

.. 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

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Pillow Case

… Eyelash flutter cool side clean, midnight mutter waking dreams. .. NovPAD, day 19 (still catching up, backwards.) 

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Play Me Something Smooth, with a Little Kick

.. ’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

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We Rise

… 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

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Night Sky Falling

.. 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. 

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The {Un}Tragedy of Shine

.. 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

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the more things

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

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The Intricate Foldings of Sheets, and Hearts

  NovPAD, day 7.

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Phobia

Phobia When they ask her what exactly she is afraid of, she knows it does not have a name. It cannot be labeled, or catalogued or studied or enclosed within the sharp, exacting edges of one word. When they ask … Continue reading

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