

This Morning -+This Morning -
This morning I made coffee as if my womb was
not a dried blond leaf. I might not be as sharp
as a breath mint, nor beautiful as needing one. I may not love that you think of me as a screwdriver
or milk cap. But this morning I rose from the sheets
like a tiger, like an obituary, a vial of cocaine. I have
ruined my marriage by swelling and swelling into
sorrow, but I rose this morning, did my hair like it
was a white flower, or shoes that had not yet been tried out. This morning I entere


What We Left Behind+What We Left Behind
In March, I was stuffing socks in my mouth to stop from crying. They were your socks,
size extra large. When you found me, you
put your hand out as if you needed a handshake
or I was a woman drifting off down a river.
It was a child, size of a strawberry and purple-black,
that I expelled into the toilet. Each arm or
part of a leg was a love note or moon clawing
at the white. "Every time you hiccup, your heart
stops," you said to me, while I hiccuped, sobbed,
snuffed in a cup of snot and air,


to go homeI close my eyes, and from the inky depths of near exhaustion... arises a fuzzy, green--splotch. It swirls before the veiled globes of vision within my skull, taunting me and filling my heart with a ravenous emptiness. Slowly the mysterious discharge of a sudden memory begins taking shape, but my horror-stricken heart knows the scene all too well. A crayola lawn sketchily plays out across the front of a boxy and architecturally unsound home. Its wooden panels are eyelash thin; a mere breeze would do more to this world &to go home
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soup
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mercy here gets meaner overnight.
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~IDST~
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my website [link]
my blog [link]
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Come howl with me, beneath the azure sky; a haunting melody, a full moon lullaby.
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