%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
| Half Past Moon The Shape of the Mind Does Not Bend Correctly I live in the great green room for years on end, when I paint it dark colors in dead of night. Monsters lurk about my head, do not dine on gray hairs and wrinkles, but lick my wounds warmed by their reptilian flesh. Whiskers tickle, spike shadows against windows, curtains, walls and down the hall -- where a bunny sleeps sound, many years now; not very small, no longer creeps in my bed between my big, snoring head and the silvery woman wearily calling, calling, calling. And I dread morning light will reach before this years-long fight will end with me and the choice of colors streaming through my mind in this bed, where I shed my sweat. No mushy, crusty bowls remain, nor ticking clocks that spell time; no oval drifters float to ceiling, by morning fall. Just refractive error in mediocre light. In ten by eight, dressers stack high, creaky closet door ajar, a mussed-up mattress rests, trapping a worrisome dweller. I see a glint of orange spy through glass, when I begin relax, and the ghosts drift out to meet the moon, not seen for hours on end. On which to depend, my body, in the kitchen leaning, into a cup in hand, half past noon? Not true. I’m dead. 3.22.22 This Blog: Quill Nominated Best Poetry Collection two consecutive years, 2020 and 2021.   "Life’s Little Misdirections 🥀🦋"  Just reading about the author of Goodnight Moon, wondering, if she had just lived past 42. |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
