“Language-twisting-twisting”

Words are always following me. They hang above, trailing me wherever I go. Constantly composing, re-forming, re-stating. Once I have a moment of peace or silence, they flood me like the deluge…. An onslaught of compositions, essays, poetry, and random statements. I am used to this constant internal narrative. It’s been there for me all …

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Prison of the Rose

Thorny ridges, brushing back Getting into so much slack Much ado with waking time Not much ringing to the rhyme. Pristine clutches, diamond digs Singing for the groveling pigs Trash talk, pouty, with a glance Change it all to take a stance. Rosebush thorny, through and through Rippling forth comes morning dew Listen to the …

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