Writer who does not: Separate island, stale wind No thought, words, sound, life…
Knock, hinges, then light Gentle, cold touch as bill mounts “like to go home please…”
Yip, yip!… yapping too… Both good and evil doled out. This can of worms I…
All the while we snooze Sorrow billows, tears…. pillows ‘Tis better to have…
Oh wait… just how short? Very funny. Real quick read. Back to tasks at hand…
Clouds move, but don’t pass Clung to me with “I need you” Darkened day and night
Mother from Ukraine Father from proud land Haiti Fight and cold always
So what’s the point, then? You want me right? So why fight? That’s half the fun, huh?
Back to square root one I am so sorry again I am filthy rags
She told her father But he couldn’t disannul. Head hung, she went on.
In a rush please move I had somewhere to be but Now there’s no point left
spinning side effects dizzy, ditzy, heartbeat too petals in a pile
No drink for me, thanks. Oh, why? Just need a break’s all. Deep breath. That’s better.
Because I’d rather Fight a different fight now One where we both win
Still trust God’s timing. Towel around her she slept. Tomorrow-day waits.
Hot skin, cold air, bed. Email—things spiral quickly. Time to fight the day.
“This isn’t too hard.” Then she fell hard off the bike. “And life moves on still!”
Heart blooms toward him. There is no safe place to love. Heart blooms toward her.
Pen, pencil, whiteout, IHOP booth, endless coffee, Plans that need making.
The technician lied. I found what caused the blockage. You don’t wanna know.