

A Pearl RingA Pearl RingA Pearl Ring
A grain of sand has slipped into my belly It's nestled somewhere
between the layers of tissue red muscle and yellow fat
It itches and burns as my body
works it over, works it out tears itself repeatedly against its infinite imperfections
wearing them away
When the pearl emerges I will set it in a ring and sell it I do not need the jewel to remember because I'll always have the scars


One More Misspent MorningOne More Misspent MorningOne More Misspent Morning
I see him struggle every morning He seems so strong and the sheets seem so soft but he cannot rise cannot escape
I see him surrender, whispering to himself One more hour, just one more as he resets the alarm and goes back to sleep for one more misspent morning


Six-Gun SerenadeSix-Gun SerenadeSix-Gun Serenade
The coffee shop and the poetry The late afternoons and endless evenings
full of alcohol and foolish, unproven boasts
Wordless oaths that wrap around our wrists tentative tendrils that wither in the morning
The burning certainty
that all the weight of wanting
will give way to satisfaction
in a single, salty kiss
The words that tumble topsy-turvy over my tongue Late mornings still filled with promise Soft days like new jeans still waiting to be broken in Empty intersections filled with meaningless signals fl


Epimetheus IIEpimetheus IIEpimetheus II
I envy you, brother your foresight, your courage and your jet black hair curls thick enough for grabbing
You were always ready to wrestle when all I wanted was to read or sit listening to the old men snort and sigh about the way it used to be
I know, I know What am I trying to say? Spit it out, already spit it out, stupid boy
This stumbling tongue troubles me It is your tool, not mine Yours cuts to the bone Mine has trouble with butter
But where would your lips be, brother without my ears


UntitledHere, I make great effort to discover what it is that is Poem.Untitled
Nothat is not true,
not quite. I make great effort, I suppose, and apply it
to Poem, which this is not, but which attempts to touch
Poem, or, rather, which attempts to fill it.
I would like this to have a place, which Poem can provide.
I would like this to be immediately metaphor, and then
to hold it distinctly: I am this and this is I and we are irrefutably Poem.
Give us what you have taken us for, and, then, afterward,
we might give this, as love, back
Devious Comments
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I don't need
no doctor
for my prescriptions
to be filled
A.
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www.strangejournal.com
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I don't need
no doctor
for my prescriptions
to be filled
A.
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www.strangejournal.com
xo!
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interested in collaborating?
writer, photographer, painter, whatever(er) -
I'll mix with words with anything you've got.
A.
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www.strangejournal.com
A.
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www.strangejournal.com
A.
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www.strangejournal.com
Ah, well. On the plus side, I now get to write about diners, Pennsylvania, and solstice! (you and your topics! Sheesh! *grin*)
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.....cogwurx......
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A.
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www.strangejournal.com
I am very glad that we're doing the poetry project though (which I like to think of as "poetry pals"). No idea what I'm going to write about this week, but still glad to be doing it.
Keep rockin' that novel.
A.
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www.strangejournal.com
A.
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www.strangejournal.com
I've lost touch with my writing, but I'm working on it.
Life is otherwise alright. Being a student again is strange, but very fufilling.
~amyfae tells me you're starting a poetry "workshop" thing. If there's still an opening I want it!
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do your part. love your mother.
Friends of Earth [link]
A.
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www.strangejournal.com
How are you?
A.
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www.strangejournal.com
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do your part. love your mother.
Friends of Earth [link]
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do your part. love your mother.
Friends of Earth [link]
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