ElcyionCoire

1:27-- You've settled crossways 'cross the bed and the A/C's out again- I think I'll go for a run. so I pull my headphones back on and roll over, trying to close my eyes     They won't, though.  And I think I can't possibly          fail you any more frequently than I do. 1:28-- I worry that I ask my BIG-PLANS questions on purpose;          you'll never leave me          with hints of a future-"perfect"          on my lips (your grin tells me so). 1:30-- [repeat] is getting hypnotic now     (that didn't take long!            I guess that's just how tired I should be                    but am not). Would that I cou

I'm beginning to wonder, and worry;     all these fortune cookies          are packed with bits of fantastic news                    (one alone had 3!), but I really don't feel     the glow that usually surrounds these happy divinations. Still,     they all say that "soon!",          so maybe I should just wait a teensy bit long- er

There are angels on the shelves     (blank faced and of                         all ages),     but I remember best the bells;               every visit I would ring                         (at least)                                   one -but carefully.          They were on display you see,               and I was young and just beginning               to scare at trouble.          I'd pick up a small one, usually,               and softly twist it, studying.     I'd hang it and shake a gentle ring;          I've always been struck by bells             (and perhaps these were why)     but I loved the sounds.

What a day          when a doll's play involves                    knives,               and          bloodshed,     and death!     what a way               to go when they have                    Spirit,               and          Strength     and        -a Zuni doll imbued                         with a warrior soul,                                     cunning,                                and intellect                         is not a trifle;     they shiver, but my hands continue to turn the pages               of this awfully gripping read.

-    I feel for the Granma               of           the                    little               zombie boy.          Mommas gone but you go on               though he's always in her room:     pulling at her things,          and looking at her picture,                    and laying on her bed. He has company now               (a little normal girl) who        doesn't believe it's true:               "She's gone!" she cries                         and zombie boy's made blue. He sneaks her in a show                         her 'round          the room.     "now she'll see!" but momms gone, and          lit

     There's a lucid state of being          that strikes (pre-terror) post-three. It comes with a stra                             "ng"                                   e                         sound,               and I'm pretty sure I          need to go to bed before the source finds me. {/* It can't be helping     that my back          is to the door, the stereo          is up and on and I'm so wrapped up          in these simple thoughts that flit and flicker like light through prisms when          normally I     get so wrapped up               in internal machinations (trying to understand wha

I like my words in ordered lines of ones or twos or threes.          But all this order can't be good                         for any poetry. Is that why we don't write these days?          is that why we're ugly?                         We've been grown up to realize                                   the world is what it seems.          Don't get the wrong idea, now:                    just sit a bit and see; the world is full of magic!     and poetry                      is the key.

I'm coming down from a post-coital high.          I've been singing again,                    and though the climax was short-lived               it had a replay button                         which I hit,                    again&again&again     'til I was blue in the face.          Now I'm recovering,                    tired but with a grin; I've always loved how sex                    can pull me from the melancholy                    of what might otherwise be                              a rather dreary                                                  dull                                                      & d