melaenis.com
we still find all that we leave behind: bibliophile
http://www.melaenis.com/2012/08/bibliophile.html
We still find all that we leave behind. Friday, April 27, 2012. Like a book through. A pane of bubbly glass -. The words blur, but. She gets the gist of. Which arcs over our lives. Of the fallout, the. Pieces it will leave. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Poet (obviously), nonfiction writer, collage artist, photographer, general starving artist. View my complete profile. Melaenis13 (at the) gmail (dot) com. Sometimes i'm really funny. Satan Goes To Sing Sing. Simple template. Powered by Blogger.
melaenis.com
we still find all that we leave behind: southwest
http://www.melaenis.com/2012/03/southwest.html
We still find all that we leave behind. Sunday, March 18, 2012. What will we remember, when. These years are through? Scent of dry grass, the unbearable. Heat of a scorching sun -. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Poet (obviously), nonfiction writer, collage artist, photographer, general starving artist. View my complete profile. Melaenis13 (at the) gmail (dot) com. Sometimes i'm really funny. Satan Goes To Sing Sing. You must be granted express permission to quote or use the contents in any way.
melaenis.com
we still find all that we leave behind: clock
http://www.melaenis.com/2012/02/fits-starts-ricochet-forward-and-fall.html
We still find all that we leave behind. Monday, February 20, 2012. The ricochet forward, and. A center to cement to. The flying - faster,. Rushing ache of it -. And the dull backwash. Of hours moving sludgelike. The years so fast,. This month will never end. This week can't go by soon enough. Before i can go. oh god. four. Hours - an eternity -. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Poet (obviously), nonfiction writer, collage artist, photographer, general starving artist. View my complete profile.
melaenis.com
we still find all that we leave behind: library
http://www.melaenis.com/2012/03/library.html
We still find all that we leave behind. Tuesday, March 20, 2012. How much i miss. The daily walk up. To the writer's room, the. Silence full of pen scratchings. Through the rain i'd run, book. Tucked under arm,. Low over my eyes. Blending into something i. Could live with - a painful. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Poet (obviously), nonfiction writer, collage artist, photographer, general starving artist. View my complete profile. Melaenis13 (at the) gmail (dot) com. Sometimes i'm really funny.
melaenis.com
we still find all that we leave behind: unsatisfied
http://www.melaenis.com/2012/03/unsatisfied.html
We still find all that we leave behind. Monday, March 19, 2012. You left me gasping, body. As you sank into slumber. And i used my tears to water the bed. Because it was the one thing. I'd wanted, in a day filled. With a line of spectacularly. Left my body huddled, alone. That were not warmed. By your sleeping heat -. Not been there at all. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Poet (obviously), nonfiction writer, collage artist, photographer, general starving artist. View my complete profile.
melaenis.com
we still find all that we leave behind: marked
http://www.melaenis.com/2012/01/marked.html
We still find all that we leave behind. Friday, January 13, 2012. I think there will be. No part of this life. That will not stain me,. My wrists ache in the. Morning, now -. Another reminder that the. I live in the in-between,. The light and dark,. Which makes me blurry, indistinct. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Poet (obviously), nonfiction writer, collage artist, photographer, general starving artist. View my complete profile. Melaenis13 (at the) gmail (dot) com. Sometimes i'm really funny.
melaenis.com
we still find all that we leave behind: to pretend
http://www.melaenis.com/2011/12/to-pretend_19.html
We still find all that we leave behind. Monday, December 19, 2011. I met a fellow poet. Plying his trade, paid. By the flowing wealth of Big Football,. As we all were,. Playing the fantasy of New orleans. For people who have their names. On buildings, faces. On alumni magazines -. The types who never. Ended up with their feet. In the gutters, to see. Perform on the streets. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Poet (obviously), nonfiction writer, collage artist, photographer, general starving artist.
melaenis.com
we still find all that we leave behind: cloud blood
http://www.melaenis.com/2012/02/cloud-blood.html
We still find all that we leave behind. Wednesday, February 29, 2012. Called it cloud blood and it's true. Today, after last night's hail. Tapping me to sleep, brittle. Running through the channel. Of the city. none came -. My disappointment, instead. For another week in. Corporate hell, use. My illicit nail polish. To stain my fingers an. Unobtrusive shade, armor. Against the constant application. Of soap and bleach water. The chemicals leach into my skin. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom).
SOCIAL ENGAGEMENT