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Tag Archives: ink
see, here’s the gist: this poem does not want to be told. she’s holding it all in way too close to feathered chest assuming playing dumband stumbled silence bestfor flying below the radar, or snow. see, here’s the ghost: of chance, she cannot speak. it’s been a week … Continue reading
, for my fingers are feeblesmall sisters that cannot sayanything by them-selves.
bic, some rhythm’d pen -sive soul etching cloudwords to ivory sky. landlocked mermaid, dry scales thirsting for ocean, ink. thinking; thanking. drinking in the rum-bled scribbled scrambled song of some language i no longer speak. i am tossing letters (spaces) to the breeze and hoping some bright bird catches them … Continue reading
we scribble tiny syllables and tuck them between these bright petaled teeth, unsheath our quill-swords and pen the truth in praise and song. they long to be spangled in our word-skins, I think, saturated satiated in wee-stemmed ………………..ink. … Continue reading
.. Three blackbirds etch their signature across a sapphire shore swollen with sunlight. She quills her own song in the snow with tail feathers and broken ink. .. Prompted by toads. The word group I worked up was: swollen … Continue reading
… we’ve got it made in the shade with a splash of cherry coke swindle-swizzle-sticked ah- maze -ment. bring ice, suffice it to say we’ll toss in a little rum -bled phrase, and praise the day we raised our glasses … Continue reading
… she’s of that kind that likes ink, the spill of it, the thrill of it, the will of it to smear itself to page in love or tears or rage. she’s cut from indigo sky-cloth, swathed in cloudskin. Trimmed … Continue reading
.. we spill. ink, tears, sweat. over. under. through. yet, we fill our hours with the crazy can-do fog of sigh and silence, offer violence a safehouse of strange. we change ourselves for nothing. expect some thing to fill the … Continue reading
… I think (got an inkling in my inmost being) that this incredible …….afternoon inspires the intricacies of phrase and the indulgence of in -direct sunlight (that ingot of sky fire in solar plexus.) In spite of my initial interjection … Continue reading
… she is sans serif 10-point type, often italicized never bold. she is onion paper see-through skin. easily erased, truth untold. she’s scribbled whim and ellipsis salt, ridiculous blessings, cacophonous grace. she’s words in margins, indigo fire. moon swallowed, sunset … Continue reading