On a hill where wars were once waged, sits a willow that weeps when it rains. It calls to the gods with each blow through the sky; earthed in the pasts remains. The faces and sounds and bloodied grounds; a twisted carnival of shame; hard to breathe even harder to believe that the sunshine isn’t … More Move it, Sunshine.
With each spin of a gods coin, the constellation of dots join, with each swipe of the palm across salted face, and each footstep in or out of any place; notes are taken. Words are spoken. Nothing is token. Even when it’s broken. Each year that scolds, each day that unfolds, every single moment, breathtaking … More Birthday Poem for J
A ‘do’, Like a Cockatoo. Reminded me, of you. You being the holler-er, of feathered things. Miss you. Me.