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Tell Me A Story

A Poet's Journey

New beginnings should always involve an element of the unattainable as inspiration.

Poetry: Welcome

The Trouble With Trespassing

I like the woman I met. She did not know I'd need everything packaged in familiar paper. I knew destiny had a margin of delusion but found it difficult not to proceed in spite of clumsiness. We have many conversations because I like to talk. I announce I've crumbled and rebuilt the walls that secure the tissue and cosmetics of the body. The woman reveals she's been in a war, too. I can see where she’s been. On the outside, she consists of bricks. Her birth was all stars and w

The Space Between Unloud Wishes of Re(a)d Words

My saving grace makes all the difference because scars are what you contemplate. As I mentioned, the life and the pictures. Do not forget that. The awkwardness of this crazy person connects with the role you will play. These feelings might become psychology if for whatever reason. Angst and a material object. Given how a patient already is often personal, it allows the bigger heart to really feel the hurt. I could not help insinuating that |terrible squinting attracts someone

The Impracticability Of Silence

A bird doesn't say you know that and I never told you. You must know by now. I have tried quiet smiles. I wish I told you but. You know what happens when it happens. It happens like this. It is almost that. It is real when you wear denim. I am sitting with words, screaming truths behind red lips. I am in a chair. I am telling you answers, just not in the way you want them. You are overthinking it. You are good at that and I like it and dislike it. Those thoughts are what I'm

Stubborn Pigeon

Facts are facts and we see them on paper. When we turn the pages, we know it's the right thing to do. In the advertisement one handle of a toothbrush lasts a lifetime, but brush your teeth of their tartar and re-enamel the handle. Today is ready for a change of weather, but not so excited for the ___________. There is no meter to measure difficulties and simplicity but we'll opt for the latter. We are linked by buckles on belts, fed through denim loops and cinched in feelings

Are You There, Bird?

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The Indigo Hour

There is a couch where you sit in the evening. It is covered in blue suede and a hiccup. It looks Victorian and feels safe. Your head aches. You are trying to write things down in a way that matters. She wears white and sits down next to you. You acknowledge her with a scratch on the shoulder and turn away. Her bare feet dangle over one end of the couch. Her pinky toe has a chip in the smooth brown polish and she's bobbing her foot. Tell me a story she says, leaning against y

It Is Not Appropriate

She is covered in green and yellow patches, bruised from the weight of words. They emerge in fragments and phrases and cover her body. When they find their way to the surface, you witness affliction in action. Every sentence leaves your mouth and finds its way under her skin. Standing in the middle of wooden bookcases and those waiting for a spectacle, she reveals words that travel the length of her arm from underneath frilly wrist ruffles. As you read aloud to no one in part

Poetry: Blog2
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