

Caer.the water of Acapulco looks bluer from almost 200 feet up and no one attempts to sell me purses, hats, sunglasses (no gracias, no gracias)Caer.
the weight of the rope attached to my ankles is a little frightening - it pulls a bit and threatens my balance on this ledge.
I try to remember the thoughts I had as the creaky elevator carried me to this point - but it seems so irrelevan


July 20th - Greensboro, NCthe mirror lies to her, too.July 20th - Greensboro, NC
I know this because she has failed to notice that the history of woman-kind can be understood in the space between her hip and her knee.
as girls, we are directionless. as women, she knows to follow my angles as closely as I navigate her curves.
this is the way - we found it.
and we are nothing if not travelers.
he says, "get her writing again."
so she does.


Aftermath.one bedroom, two bedroom, four bedroom - the duplexes grow in size as I proceed down the dead-end street.Aftermath.
I turn down an alley, as I am still an explorer here.
I brake to a stop when I see it -
the left side of one of the duplexes has been completely burned.
the charred skeleton of the house squints awkwardly in the sun.
it is half of a heart failure - the left chambers have collapsed.
I drive back to the street to see that the devastation is almost unnoticeable from the front.


If it were worth writing down.this poem will not begin. this poem looks me squarely in the face and refuses to open its mouth, refuses to take that singular deep breath before speaking, refuses to unfold.If it were worth writing down.
this poem knows that all I have is endings - all I have is things that terminate, fall short, precede silence.
this poem has decided that perhaps I could have a bright future writing epitaphs on tombstones.
it know


Savoir-faireRed strings form themselves into braids, firebent & erratic,Savoir-faire
until they fall into the notes they have invented for the sake
of a puzzle, fingers dripping poetry as though from tiny pinpricks,
falling acidic into the mouth, words as flat as a pickguard as they
spill from the instrument's tongue.
The hands are something irregular, vintage,
as black & distorted as a warped vinyl. Pills
of rainwater flood the vocal cavities as they try to explain
from the phonograph, not a creator but a projector, a
conformist. An octave as low as a jazz musician
in some dark New York Ci
Devious Comments
Trench <3
--
...drawing the line between dreams and reality...
--
Fear the man who has nothing to lose, for he who has nothing to lose has nothing to fear.
Why don't you join the poetry contest from [link] ?
It's free and every nitwit such as myself who enters gets a small gift
but someone like you might win one of their $10 000 or $100 000 prizes.
--
We're all pawns, my dear.
Message me some time and ask me to show you that video. I'll know which one I'm talking about.
You'll love it.
<3
--
_//LEMONTEA||MORE.ADDICTIVE.THAN.HEROIN_+''
--
_//LEMONTEA||MORE.ADDICTIVE.THAN.HEROIN_+''
--
Comment, because you care.
Share your kindness, not your hate.
Love the art, before yourself.
How are you, anyway?
--
We're all pawns, my dear.
--
"Poetry is the perfume of the soul." - Otep Shamaya
Write.
--
Take me anywhere- just not out of context.
--
"The world we perceive through our senses could be an elaborate hoax. "
René Descartes
--
Long venerated by the Christian Church, Adimus was removed from the roll of angels eligible for honor by the faithful in 745.. declared ineligible by a Council of Rome for lack of evidence for his existence and works.
--
I saw three Goths
Skipping down Maguire Street.
It made my heart soar.
--
"Why we're put in this mess. Is anybodys guess.
It might be a test. Or it might not be anything.
To be too worried about. But if you're still in doubt.
Go and knock yourself out."
~Jon Brion.
--
Take me anywhere- just not out of context.
HA. Beat everyone this year. Everyone.. here, anyway.
--
Long venerated by the Christian Church, Adimus was removed from the roll of angels eligible for honor by the faithful in 745.. declared ineligible by a Council of Rome for lack of evidence for his existence and works.
--
Just because you're breathing doesn't mean you're alive.
--
I watch the rain stream down the windows in the dark. It gives me a feeling that the whole world is taking a moment to be sad. - Catherin Ryan Hyde, "Becoming Chole"
Haven't heard from you in awhile. (Though the photo is a nice mood piece.)
I liked the rhythm of "Suburban Medley" but it was locked out so I couldn't comment on it.
Any way to buy your book without giving out a credit card number?
Hope to see more from you soon.
--
Something of a Mess
I published a book.
Go see.
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