all that gold plucked out and the oldest trees cut down for no and we sing the malls of our vibrant young and walked for miles with pretzels for the cassette that changes everything
Category Archives: Splinters
behind the mirror a rain-cloud ruling the sleep story was truly airborne and that we shall weep for the very gifts we now regift
with time running out and the clasp broken the last thing the mortuary students needed was this extended commentary on the subtext of that smirk
never with anything to show for the veins of leaves lost feathers of the long day and those thin bones from which perhaps flutes but now I have broken my own rule and as you see the birds die
but you could have guessed as much from the grasping fingers crushed for a chance to splash in dirty puddles while children learn fresh insults for a cloud that never brings rain
one could choose to count the grains of sand on this or any other beach but as we have but each other to ride out our sundry troubles perhaps let us order in
already past as long as you can stay undecided about how to walk on the shards of this mirror after months of wind whipping the whys of juvenalia
splinter
moving toward what with blurry eyes an empty hand lies to the whole body nightly nodding I thought I could escape the flies
splinter
the road unraveling the load of papers blistered from my hands spent imagining lines to get out of funerals
splinter
in my nose old bookscent a torn bag of evening song longs for cool my life somehow still here
haiku and other animals 