bang: a quadrille

walking bones and fleshtalking nerves cartilagesmachinery - dark inside - yet summer warm with heart as suni wonder those with long long gunsas they fire bang see blood and brain splattered who is the god who honors what their masked lips prayed? — 08.20.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo by freestocks on Unsplash This… Continue reading bang: a quadrille

someone stood still on a globe for 50 minutes

heard it's bad to stand so longthink ankle hurting calves groaning but spine will also complain about sitting from first roosters call to the sun's departure ihave been standing stillagainst the wind ofvirus that killed my airplane-bound-homeuntil how long? — 08.04.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons… Continue reading someone stood still on a globe for 50 minutes

darling

born in the era of wide-legged pantshis limbs - bamboos - his hands - cloudto touch. his eyes,thin eyes, disappearwhen he smiles. he dances, sings without juke, Elton and Michaelcroon inside his heart.no wonder, no wonderhe is my darlingdad. — 18.06.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons… Continue reading darling

can you catch me?

my brain, moresmudge than wrinkled-thinking-machine,eye-to-eye — last week's cold coffee & I — where is the milkin this sugarlessgoodbye. we're lockedbut we're also the key. there is a story withinthese cracks in timid tremble float, afloat.up, up, andaway. — 15.06.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives… Continue reading can you catch me?

the weight of june

out of curiosity, how does it feel to be the middle month free of fireworks, carols,and turkey? the juicymango sun, the nod-ding daffodils, the terracotta leaves, all are not in your hands. June, doyou feel heavy or light as sand? — 01.06.2021©2021 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative… Continue reading the weight of june

take a seat and see

rolled sunset crawlsto kiss whale's home,persimmon spilled.wilted leaves archtowards foliage tomb,autumn fulfilled. cold keys hangvoid of fingers, warm, bite the seed of hopewill it burst somebitter crumb? consider the possibilityof wings once our breathssuccumb — 11.17.2020©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.… Continue reading take a seat and see

wishes in the wind

i wish i've puppy-pawsto dig through the muck of this year. i wish i've puppy-eyesto bend my Master's will. i wish i've a puppy-noseto smell happinessfrom a mile. i wish i need not to wish for a real, real smile. — 11.03.2020©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under… Continue reading wishes in the wind

hell’s window

there is a paintingoutside my window, hell magnetingthe day sun's glow. stain of last nightrests on my pillow--- my unraveling with moonlight's bow. feels a few feet frommy reach, the sky, if only dusk can give me wings to fly. — 10.20.2020©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under… Continue reading hell’s window

steps to stay sane: a quadrille

fingers bumbling onblank spaces of boththe web and the tree's skin.grabbing yellows frombumblebees to paintsunsets where freedom wins. stirring orange fromdawn to make a cupof giggling cinnamon. stealing sweetnessfrom apple's bum---to have some sanity won. — 08.25.2020©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.Photo via Unsplash This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International… Continue reading steps to stay sane: a quadrille

missing thumb: a quadrille

murderer. i am a murderer of eight. eight innocent lives my hands without green thumbs have ended the purple garden of eight eggplants. i was 15. since then i've not tried to get my fingers dirty, afraid to be a murderer for the ninth time. — 08.11.2020 ©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved. Photo… Continue reading missing thumb: a quadrille