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Tag Archives: tiny stories in poem pockets
has us grinning, too and fused to the dancefloor of this star-stung sky.
.. is a massive thought sometimes caught in a tiny box. …. in april we poem.
.. let’s stuff some hope in there, and some kindness, too, a little sun -shine and some promises that just might fight these denim blues. we’ll need some unity and a quiet few who are willing to break through and … Continue reading
She tumbles until she has nothing left but the rise and fall of sky as breath , and a mouth scarred thick with stories. .. .. twiglets #97.
.. longs for sea; quills salty feathered songs in wee poem pockets. ..
.. long my waiting into morning hope, a hum of blossomed breeze ..
.. Nothing bitter. No coffee, no cold -heart stare, no chairs without comfort. No root. No soot. Nothing batter. No waffles. No pan -cakes, no average. No pitch black night with softball stars. Nothing bit her. Not the love bug … Continue reading
… Okay, the horizon’s gone a little murky and the air -waves are a cacophony of argumentation and delineation and falsification and hate. We debate and we try to satiate our hunger with happenstance instead of hope. We grope around … Continue reading
… shhhhhh. they’ve got tiny petaled ……..s e c r e t s, and way too many pockets to put them in. .. Kim’s got us doing some gardening over at dVerse Poetics. Come play!