spitting fire
spitting fire there she was in her little black dress just crossing the bridge towards me spitting fire asking me to engage or be enflamed to bursting 1/5/02 *image from…
the end of poetry
the end of poetry it was a great run these letters words not sentences all arranged to make sounds in your mind when the last poetry shop closed i was…
not all the same
not all the same slow motion pain we are not all the same losses tear some of us deeper loves lost wound us at depths we will never fathom she…