#FreeVerse
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
The very flatness of portraits makes for nostalgia in the connoisseur. Here’s the latest
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
spider on the cold expanse of glass, three stories high rests intently and so purely alone. I’m not like that!
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…
Ventriloquy is the mother tongue. Can you colonize rejection by phrasing your request, “Me want?”
A merchant is probing for us with his chintz curtain
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
The idea that they were reenacting something which had been staged in the first place bothered her. If she wanted to go on, she’d need to ignore this limp chronology. She assumed he was...
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
Card in pew pocket announces, “I am here.” I made only one statement because of a bad winter.
The jacaranda, for instance, is be… but not serious. That much I can guess. And that the view
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—