You are currently browsing the daily archive for March 18, 2010.
A small indulgence:
nibs, inkwells, hand writing in
a click to print world.
Cut pin stitch fabric
stretch confines of clothing to
become catwalk art.
Hands on hip, baby,
sketchbook. Diapering, drawing,
birthing creation.
She may have faults but
to me she’s flawless, a me
I wish I could be.
Why they don’t do it
my way I can’t understand
’cause I’m always right.
Like green periscopes
tiny shoots peer from muddy
beds searching for sun.
Night pushed back, a dark
blanket kicked aside as the
sun stays wide awake.
When she’s not funny
her raw candor grips readers
probing her deep wounds.
Taken by cell phone,
he grins shyly, she glows as
if her prince has come.
Either it’s a loud
HVAC system or
white noise to mask fear.
Latex gloves. Cotton
swabs. Antiseptic. What would
MacGyver create?
Perched on the exam
table like a rib roast on
white butcher paper.
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