Poetry for me is a way of living, it comes out of nowhere and I have to write it down. How I write, what I write, I decide. I am not asking you to be judgemental. I am gifted with the ability to see beyond the obvious.
Saturday, December 04, 2010
in the bin of tangled up holiday, lights switch off all by themselves. my fingers cut into my palm but I search for my platinum ring. in the darkness when a soft breath moves against me; I push it to the plateau of shaking rattle of my body. I fill the leaks, while you free me with your tenseness.
"when my solitaire falls to ground, my plateau becomes a mountain"