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Tag Archives: on writing
;; Forget that each bright morning dawns in indigo ink and bids us spill our former selves, offers a fresh petaled page for the (loves me, loves me not) aching. Forget that words are keys and bandages and nails, songs … Continue reading
…. Blood may be thicker than water, but she knows it flows slower than ink; pester her some hospital tests to prove it. At best, anxiety fluffed through quill. At worst, words craving cardiac arrest, caged at center – in … Continue reading
… She’s been known to loiter with letters, tear words limb from limb, trim them down to their small -est syll a bles. She’s been accused of messing with mean -ings, gleaning new readings from hum -bled spill, bending words … Continue reading