Category Archives: Home
Here Poemy, here girl, here boy, hweet, hwheet, wheet… c’mon—atta girl, atta boy, c’mon. Bronkbuster’s muse is a dominatrix— demanding, abusive, beautiful, alluring, cruel, and dripping wet—smelling of sea and sagebrush. Mine is on cat’s feet, shifting shapes and sometimes … Continue reading
Low cloud off the sea envelopes everything, beading the dark stones. (shore: pixabay.com)
What is it about two o’clock, the bitching hour? Dreaded double-strike. The eyes snap open, no retreat from wakefulness– it’s just a poem.
A tree in my yard, upheaval in my country. The tree stays the same.
Bleeding from twenty small cuts on my arms and legs; yard work has a price. (www.osoti.net)
Bricks upon more bricks; playing with mud holds them tight. Sore: understatement. (brick: obsidiandesign.com; circle: backdoorsurvival.com)
The freeway is the ocean, the stars are just as high, but fewer. I am tired, but can still pretend what is real is somewhere near, not a lifetime away. My imagination saves me again. (top: en.wikipedia.org; bottom: lovethesepics.com)
Standing in the rain is different if you don’t have a dry home place.
The east wind blows cold, ruffling the hair where it lays against my ears. It smells of fir, river, and traffic. My urban life is a friend with whom I often argue. I always question my place in it. Answers … Continue reading
Last leg underway; the roar is on the outside; both my ears are full. (top: postadvertising.com; bottom: seatmaestro.com)