the idea is small. make it be a poem.
send me your small poems. i'll publish them. firstname.lastname@example.org or post one yourself, in the comments.
a broken space in an empty room far from townunder himsmall as dustor -the slinky anagramthe forgotten passworda soft bulletdon't sleep yetyour crescent tracks crackhis head
I go to bed wearing nothing butyour cold weatherI see into the window of my pillow -you are sketching my heartin small circles
untitledby peterlordthe bottomless sadnessof being an object;I cannot escape the shapeof my own imprints
what not to tell him - by anestheziathat he is a dead-beat dadand has no hair under that hat/capthat he has a diseasecalledpedophile do crypticthat he wouldn't know a spider from a cat.that you can cook every thing around himbetter than that..that he is the only one who every checks intwice a week to make sure you aren't dead.that his mother wasn't asleep under the kitchen table,she was just passed out like that...that he is a coward, a thief and if you had brothers in the area they'd kick his ass.
from chels -http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q76itxTs-90
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