TW Featured Poetry
Climb until every pixel of the sky’s bloom falls directly into your view.
Climb until every pixel of the sky’s bloom falls directly into your view.
Come home early, don’t (whatever), drive carefully, keep well, see you at Thanksgiving.
When I close my eyes, I see neon. I’m told the baby is stoic.
Lovers will conspire, infatuation wrapped around their bodies, breathing in great gulps of each other.
Snow White, anemic: Should have eaten more red meat.
Fat content of dreams. Calories in a carnal fantasy.
Please, tell me I am not the only mother, only wife setting the night table for my dead.
She’s your civil servant, even though you are serving her tonight.
A confession: I fell in love with grief.
Listen, Pocket ~ there are three shoes to fear ~ they will dance