dandelions
dancing in the wind
or was it daisies?
Math and Aftermath
Who of them will come to be? How many of them are you and me?
the view (from here)
screaming motorcycles encircle my house triggering a fear of the dangers of daring to be young again on top of that all the birds a round here are refusing to co operate i remember leaping over the handle bars and painting the street with several inches of my fore head
It's All One Story
I am not a disciplined writer. I don't even like to call myself a writer. I don't get writer's block. I get writer's fright. I've said this before. Why does writing frighten me? Because when writing, I can't lie. I can't hide.
i bargained for salvation
i used to by opium from a guy who wore renfaire clothing and always made me listen to him sing 'shelter from the storm' i just cut ties with a grifter poet who'd been grooming me for a few months, i don't know what