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Tag Archives: square one
Except (accept) that it’s a circle, really,more hula-hoop than hopscotch. We’ve been herea time or two, my friend,where both the mad and the merry go ’round. And so we spin. Begin, again. :: In November, we poem.
this poem is neither here nor there,line nor square (one). she has scrib-bled her-self in sidewalk chalk, and then hopscotched across her own bright skin,left just one small skipping stone within. shhh.she’s still here,still stained. waiting for rain. :: In April, we poem. This is also a second … Continue reading
She runs, and whisper-soft, they tell her things. Secrets. The pounding of her own hooves. The bleeding of this indigo sky. The why of silence. She’s got lungs, and legs. She’s got this air and these miles. She’s got nothing … Continue reading