Held back by your tight
seventeen syllable leash,
I write elsewhere now.
Abandoned blog
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Held back by your tight
seventeen syllable leash,
I write elsewhere now.
West Coast starting line
pavement our road map we head
east back to our roots.
Despite my darkest
moods you reach out, take my hand,
and lead me toward hope.
Strands layered, length chopped,
I change, shed years, fears, regrets.
Why’d I wait so long?
Some days it’s enough:
an absent child’s return, a
dog’s rapt love, a kiss.
We discuss the soul,
ponder death’s postlude, then choose
the happy ending.
Breathless, punched in the
gut seeing language evolve,
my own words falter.
Eyes red focus shot
totally worthless but I
still need that paycheck.
She spent the day in
aisle 6, cold flu remedies,
wellness boxed, bottled.
Dark fear crackling at
the edges, the heart beats on,
pulsing core of light.