Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire. - Roland Barthes

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  • the Chariot in love
    June 21, 2020
    . you are not a war. there is nothing to be won here. you asked me once what my ruin is. what could make me a monster. I didn’t answer. the answer is,   fear. I am that ordinary. I was born like this. but I have invented new ways to pray. the clock is…
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  • Poems I Lost
    June 14, 2020
    I walked on my lunch break to an authentic Mexican diner near work. My car was being a shit. Again. I walked along the sidewalk, my smart flats slapping the hot pavement and I saw a flower growing out of the crack in the sidewalk, right there in the center, 8 inches tall and proud…
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  • …thine
    June 14, 2020
    “...here’s a secret: every monster is lonelier than you. every piano starts out playing in tune. come a little closer. I’d like to know you.” - Thine, Marty McConnell
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  • Dig Deep
    June 13, 2020
    “Every waking hour I’m choosing my confessions....” - R.E.M. All of my friends are finding religion. Scripture and church schedules. Youth groups. bible studies. Maybe that’s what you do when you’re pushing forty with a mortgage and some kids and some jobs and the weight of the world on your shou...
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  • Asset 5
    Softness
    June 9, 2020
    Maybe, when they’re older and Grown and gone away from my arms, They’ll remember that I wasn’t perfect, but I loved them deeply, and I tried hard not to cut them with my sharp edges. *-V.
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  • Laying claim
    June 9, 2020
    I was afraid that when the drinks were gone, the words would be, too. As though it took 90 proof to make them course from me, as though the inhibitions were too great a burden to bear while also trying to share...tequila is great for inhibitions, but that was so long ago. I’ve long since…
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  • Almost
    June 9, 2020
    “...I loved you/like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have loved you more if I sat in a small room rolling a cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom, but that didn’t happen....” - Bukowski, An Almost Made Up Poem ____________ Yo...
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  • Stability
    January 2, 2010
    I miss when the words used to flow. I suppose that's what happens when you hold everything inside, and you sit down to write and it all just pours out. These days I let myself experience so many emotions on a daily basis, they become jumbled in my head and I have difficulty sorting, discerning,&h...
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  • Dried Up
    December 14, 2009
    I wanted to be sober and be saved. They call some of us "Recovered" (but certainly not me). It turns out, after all, that when you stop dousing things with substance and deal with real life, the crazies don't go away. I'm still a nut-case, it's just not as glaringly, blatantly...
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