Proper Windage
…little me underground, fading, stalking, pretending to be dead, aiming to end a thing that has no heart and already has a bullet in the head…
…little me underground, fading, stalking, pretending to be dead, aiming to end a thing that has no heart and already has a bullet in the head…
Today I rocked, I wrote, I plucked my strings, I nailed a poem called “the little things” and then I did a victory dance around the house, and I don’t mean just on the inside.
My grandmother always said, “Moderation in everything,” and of course she’s right. I should have heeded her advice tonight. I wonder, if my grandpa had heeded her advice more often, would he have needed the Alka-Seltzer less often?
Time to make more croutons.
I knew this little girl once in a sunlit classroom when I was little too. She had the deepest eyes of brown that would burst open to the color of swirling oblivion. They did so once right before mine. I dared to glimpse into them for as long as I …
This world loves its labels. So I’ve labelled this “Declassified.” It’s a Ghost’s story for this new year’s night but to the rangers, witches, and wolves among us it is a howl flung in your direction, a notice served, a warning or perhaps a confirmation, a blank postcard from parts …
“How are you doing this morning?” asked the headphones on the other end of the line, presumably wrapped around a head that was still trying to wrap itself around a script. “Fine,” I replied. But I thought this: I’m in the ebb trying to flow. The moon must be waxing. …
With my last few drops, Muse demanded I tell you that this one’s best paired with a glass of red wine and Concrete Blonde’s “Bloodletting” and/or The Rage’s “Fistful of Steel” gently lurking in the background… Muse, you’ve taught me so much about wood and stone. I now wish to …
Artist, please
Claw at it
Happiness is being
the soft-spoken bass player
and the objectified
token male eye-candy
in an otherwise all-girl band.