August 3, 2011 § 1 Comment

You have to speak in rhythm, dear
Have to let your words fall like
Bombs and pinecones

You have to read with swords, dear
Have to slice sharply into stanzas
Leaving only polished chrome

You have to sing from perches, dear
Have to speak an avian language and
Wrap your legs in billowing skirts

You have to write with fire, dear
Have to clasp your quill of flame until it’s
Charred and ceases to hurt


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§ One Response to #91

  • fullmoonborn says:

    Eating lunch, and catching up,
    I’ve read more, but will leave this
    with the last for which I’ve time.
    I do like your things…

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You are currently reading #91 at Authored Angioplasty.


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