What would you say to your younger self? Dear Younger Me … A letter to myself Sunday, Nov. 6, 2-3:30 p.m. Latitude 53, 10242 106 St, Edmonton Six area writers have been invited to pen letters to their younger selves, whether as children or as young adults, and share these aloud with the audience, followed by a Q […]
your morning beauty your eyes in civil twilight the small of your back your sweet sweet kindnesses the love in your eyes seen through my eyes your quiet magic votre chapeau blanc votre chemise bleue your willingness your hopeful your aching rocking rhythm that flicker that grin that curling in you do when we entwine your mysterious […]
to make a river proud — i do not have the tools for this. river says yes, you do, child. yes you have eyes, ears, strong hands and a fine heart. you are my beloved and i will always be proud of you.
there is a bridge covered in locks some with no keys, some sealed with long-forgotten combinations some quietly closed with ribbons, with twine there is a cathedral owned by gargoyles pigeons and peasants there is a tomb covered in small stones flower petals, metro tickets, teeth, candy, gratitude another tomb queerly smothered in lipstick kisses […]
(source: online newsalizm headlines and good ol’ yummy e-spam) you wrote that you looking moped rental and chicago here you have all what I found: put down your brush comet holds the secret to life cup of tea the answer why women really love wearing shoes (what message are you sending with your shoes?) tori spelling’s […]
this is just to say i got your note. really, willy. the last plums. you knew i was saving them and still you ate them. all of them. so delicious and so cold. fine. i hope they froze your tongue. you have always been selfish. ~~~ this is just to answer your note: i’m sorry you […]
Other Lives And Dimensions And Finally A Love Poem My left hand will live longer than my right. The rivers of my palms tell me so. Never argue with rivers. Never expect your lives to finish at the same time. I think praying, I think clapping is how hands mourn. I think staying up and waiting […]