#AmericanWriters #FemaleWriters #LanguagePoetry #FreeVerse
Complex systems can arise from simple rules. It’s not that we want to survive, it’s that we’ve been drugged
You’re it. It is (you are) an error with an arsenal of disguises,
If sadness is akin to patience, we’re back! Pattern recognition was our first response
There were distinctive dips and shivers in the various foliage, syncopated, almost cadenced in the way
A girl is running. Don’t tell me “She’s running for her bus.” All that aside!
Sad, fat boy in pirate hat. Long, old, dented, copper—colored Ford. How many traits must a thing have
A career in vestige management. A dream job back—engineering shifts in salience. I’m so far
Shooting pleasures Ok’d by My being seen For Or as
We know the story. She turns back to find her trail devoured by birds. The years; the
Discomfort marks the boundary. One early symptom was the boundary… The invention of hunger. I could use energy. To serve.
You may “have” sex— but those round sink—holes beneath the off—ramps, scabbed with whatever
With whom do you leave yourself during reveries? The one making coffee or doing the driving—
A merchant is probing for us with his chintz curtain effect. *
The idea that they were reenacting something which had been staged in the first place bothered her. If she wanted to go on, she’d need to ignore this limp chronology. She assumed he was...
What if I were turned on by seemi… or “extrapolate?” What if I maneuvered conversation… words? Perhaps the excitement would come…