#Americans #LanguagePoetry #Women #FreeVerse
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
It’s as if we’ve just been turned… in order to learn that the beetle we’ve caught and are now devouring is our elder brother
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever