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“You listen too well”
my mothers well worn back-handed compliment,
reclining, or maybe melting,
kitchen chairs, an upturned glass,
heel of her palm pressed against the darkening sky of her cheek...
Death is candid, he does not take and give back,
what he snatches is for keeps.
He never lies and says ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do…‘
not a salesman but a judge,
a brusque swing of his gavel- ...
I want a body that brooks no argument.
That bites, instead of cowers when abused,
bares its teeth at a lingering hand-
a body that stands up for itself,
and refuses to be muzzled.
I have been ...
Carry on Polaris, I would follow-
stumble through rooted forests
black and earthen, soil rich as gold.
This arc was clearly outlined,
fated, ensnared- two ships not passing
but crashing in the r...
I’ve tightened up the books, so if you are a lurker, you might as well out yourself now, if you want in.
EDIT TO ADD (Also: omg, sorry if you’ve been lurking and now I let you into the previously...
I bundle your excuses into piles
Trash, keep, return.
Line up the needle and embroider the guilt,
embed the strung words into one wrist
My heart choked by syllables and sentences.
I am the anchor,
tethering you here.
The thread weeds, and the stone,
a treacherous weight.
I am the moon drowning you with an angry high tide,
then pulling back, apologetic.
A howling summe...
I grow in the small cut aways left to me.
Your residual bald spots
where weeded and pulled,
first grappling, then dominating your lies.
Quiet in the forgotten undergrowth,
yet un-razed, out of b...
I just need to put this somewhere.
I’m not a huge biography person, I don’t even like non-fic that much, preferring to get lost in the fantasy worlds of fiction… But this book by Alan Cumming.. ...
Pulitzer Prize Book
Book of Poetry
Consider the Fork by Bee Wilson ⭐️⭐️⭐️
The Times are Never so bad by Andre Dubus ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
YA book series
1. Daughter of ...
My heart; asunder.
The black goblin who weeps from the wound
and drags himself up and out with gladness.
Careful of the cracks, darling,
my grief has teeth and she gnashes.
My chest, broken op...
A stumbling question
clutched close, beyond the throat
of a quiet room.
A necklace of red grapes,
the sweet collar bone that beckons your kiss.
Your hand, on my back as
I fall heavy into slumb...
This is going to be updated through out the year. And if you don’t like it you can kiss my book. (I substituted book for butt, in case that wasn’t clear).
A book with more than 500 pages
A fitful slumber,
through gauzy windows peeped
the Beast imprisoned in a cage of rib bones.
Held there, a burrowing rodent against a cement floor,
how he gnashed his teeth against knowledge,
I stood at the shoreline
and watched you dip over the horizon.
And then stayed like a mother keeping bedside vigil.
Starched with fear, upholstered upright.
Becoming less like a...
I, the lone adult, lop off strawberry heads,
give them over to eager hands
whose feet march the tiled floors
like a roving army.
I, the kitchen guard enslaved to endless snack orders-
Read it, and I'll say "Thank You"
Because everything else is friends only now, you can leave me a note here to say hi if we're not bffs yet.