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the idea is small. make it be a poem.
i'll publish them.
lynzepoet@gmail.com
or post one yourself,
in the comments.
the idea is small. make it be a poem.
i'll publish them.
lynzepoet@gmail.com
or post one yourself,
in the comments.
9 comments:
windows
crayons
in my heart
the choir members
are rats melted like ash.
the on-
fire
glass
strange time
in the backyard
so many birds
all black
pecking at snow
with the frenzy
of stars, reversing.
hi, it's me. please delete that windows-crayons poem. i will post something better. p.s. that cool animated looks-like-a-penis image is fucking up. like animated images do. parts become a black curtain. ~t
i meant... i WANT to post something better. lol
o! sarah!
our doe eyed beauty
when will you go cougar?
dear t
i like that poem. do i have to not use it?
sensualist
betoken of dirt
flower singer
pale dark
heart
The Daughter Of Christmas
I never thought my love
would taste like black
bean soup
heated from a can
you refused
to eat
or that this is the third time I wiped out your hard drive
i only hoped to show you the value
of love
forgiving its self
but I realize it's
too cold
in every bedroom
& I ought to move the kitchen into it
or I may never surivie
living alone
Trying to hide the light under a bag of circles
watch steam whisps
rise from 2am, a cup - the world
seems black & red and white & grey and green
the broiler - my new home - the va
a section eight - voucher and holly jolly
work for a living I don't - please chance
give to another sleepless night
I rise, I rise
but not to the sun
or your moon
beam
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