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This poem is a fair …….(maiden) in a bright tower, sticky with cotton candy clouds and crowds of dark (k)nights in dashing star-spilled skin. She’s in it for the pop -corn, you know, the equality that only comes from tumbled … Continue reading
.. This poem is an un -solvable equation of puberty and pain, a darkest-hour drama, a glorious hormone hurricane. She has tired-of-texting thumbs and uniambic feet that are finding their rhythm in a new place all her own. She’s known … Continue reading
.. This poem is for your eyes only, some small apology for the lonely ways I’ve smudged your pages. This poem is the tired-of-everything matra of the ages, of our darkest hour -glass cages and the ways we’ve celebrated all … Continue reading
.. she’s all round hips and loose lips and sibilant spill; full of curves and nerves and the no -frills call of the wildebeest. she’s found herself in ink and sky, relies on timbered truth and marbled wry humor and … Continue reading
… ’Dis poem ain’t in line or just in time. She’s got one black eye and bruised feet and a pen -chant for running out in the street before she’s fully dressed. She don’t listen, or glisten, or wrap a … Continue reading