Tag: confessional poetry

For Who The Graves Toil

Soon all will be dust, swept to dirt, buried past swallowed by the Earth. Even now the wind and mountains creek, to rivers flood, flowing future whispering bones of who came before. Advertisements

Penguins Fly Coach

Rum on the floor and when we dance it’s sticky. with each step. But who cares, because the dark makes sense of what we can’t say out loud and is more aware of our hips and heart than we knew had feeling. Mistaken identities…

Is It A Drunk Text If I Still Love You?

I don’t know how to talk to you, and although I’d like to. texting at this hour might not help that effort, but, I’ve got midnight in my blood and its the only time I feel like being honest. The moon must hold some…