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This place, a lake. I see myself. I float my words. I plow black through silent snow and wait for echo. .. Cool prompt over at Poets United. Come play. Advertisements
… Now I lay me down these lines, this small crown of words. Rest inside these ground ink stains, where I’m found in verbs, in the throes of noun and syllable, bound; soul-stirred. .. Victoria has us playing with the lai … Continue reading
.. there’s a very good chance she’s gonna write something. turn a phrase around on her tongue until it tastes just right. never sneeze only once. have the hiccups daily. call the sky her friend. fall in love with the … Continue reading
… We fill ourselves with ink and sighs, pull parchment from the nearest tree. Clack keys. Please: here’s my heart. Can you read it? Hold it softly. It tears. It’s salty and sometimes it swears. It’s got cracks. See the … Continue reading
.. just ask the moon. she’s got a job to do, too. wax. wane. balance the tide tables. keep that ocean stable. stars? they’re the thumbtacks that hold up the sky. (they don’t take smoke breaks, or wonder why.) i’d … Continue reading
.. In the beginning was the ………………………….word. .. .. And the poet’s heart did swell, and quill her soul a quiet song. Longing to etch is somewhere safe, she confessed her need to the moon, who loaned her a … Continue reading