He came to me in the spring,in that February, snowflakes clicked out of dreamslike photographic snapshots, and with mehe sang, as if he knew how to sing and was alive.Leaving no cross on my body, he called me to paradise,washing away my red name from my palms with...
The dress I wore at your fourth wedding is most likely gone from memory now. It was maroon lace over satin and matched the flush of my shame when you took me into the back of my new grandparents’ home and beat me for embarrassing you by raising my voice.That is gone,...
My loom is loud with water.His bouncing war legs are finallyStill. I weave into his dolorous mouthA golden thread of trust. I feel his gut,With my fingers and, now, he is not even curiousWhy he has seagrass from my estuary woven into his long hair. And so it goes. He...
O Striver!Has not the line in the yard beyond sheer?Of name all the star, forever bear!Void, has it been, for all that refer?Such piquancy so clear, every wherever so near!Forgive me so, have I not dwelled in the shadow,far to the rear?
whose wishes are in your handstell me, who is wishing for loveHealing. whose wish is that?reconciliation may be one.. are you a mediator or the delivererare you the receiver, the sender or grantercan you be the soul of utilitarianism?how do you decide whose wishes to...
your only 6 feet awaybut it feels like countless milesi guess the deepest sleeps occur with granite pillowsnow you’re the coldest person with the warmest heartnow you reside in the quietest neighborhood in townwhere the wind through the pines and the occasional flight...
Look: it ripples upon the water, this crumbled moon. Drowning in a shoreline pocked with decayed pilings, Against the abandoned building garland in graffiti, Among the ruins of the mill market unfurled and unfettered In the surge of mortality — there; the heron steps....
i don’t own anything in redno jewels, no scarf, no lipstick, no threadmy eyes turn from bridal gleami don’t know how to respondwhen you call for me every yearlike traditionyou make me sit downand watch the sun seepinto a living roomthat belongs to neither younor to me...
my sculpture (found art) gave me happiness made from a wheel.
By Amanda Wilde We're on the edge of the AegeanI'm under an umbrella made of palm frondshe's standing in the seaI'm watchinghe's skipping rocks. In the sun it's 30Cin the wind and water it's 30FI wonder who he isI know his laugh lines are 100maybe more. Captivated,...