Brainstorm
You, my friend are a concept map yet, I can’t quite connect the dots disparate thoughts the bubbles struggle as do you, drowning and no one noticed because you didn’t […]
Poetry
Triggers on the Gardening Tool
like swords to plowshares, we no longer use these words to cut. our wits, sharpened to peel back layers of self-harm. onions making me tear up without knowing why. Amid
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Forest for the Trees
I could not tell you the amount of time the sun shone on that spot each day, hidden away this hidey-hole the thoughts and fears of squirrelly ten-year-olds whose only
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Circling the Wagons
McGuffin’s got nothin’ but to propel this darn campfire yarn done spun from a deserted ice cream party at the Just A-OK Corral. Thumb and finger circling back around. Your
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Kindled
stacks of notebooks like cordwood fending off the cold paltry fire barely big enough to keep my fingers warm so i can write and count the pages as they flutter
via negativa (for us)
The admin of the poetry newsletter posts his name and address in the email signature dry droll “Daring” Dave Bonta Podunk, Penna. An invitation beating down his cabin door but
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the muse and I
the muse and I are having yet another state of the union addressing affairs of the heart. she has spread out before me love letters my chest so full of
STUNTED
Like the precursor to a best-selling teen dystopian novel series with half-heartedly-made cash cow movies, the cherry tree in our front yard has failed to blossom for the first time