working this nine to five means ( Read more... )

Hesse is rocking my front porch
rocking chair, yes
Hermann is at it again.
Should I let him in
on that daring fact
that i am a woman
a madwomyn, yes
who has slipped in through the gates
to take quarrel with a few facets
of our destined, fabulous fate?

no sister of a saint
no mother of a martyr
no lover of a male revolutionary am i.

but am i a mirror?
could ( Read more... )

books are boring ( Read more... )

who is this, this womyn, Rebecca Sloan; who loves red poppies though she's never seen them nor touched them, but only with her minds eye; her cyclopsian self; the one here who holds truths like they were grains of sand; the one here whose toes are digging in; the one here who cooperates with the demands that shifting sand relates.  The red is the ( Read more... )

when my dreams are too large to inhabit ( Read more... )

you know, you are a succulent ( Read more... )

outside on our porch ( Read more... )

everything i write feels like nonsense ( Read more... )

i feel the cool chill settle ( Read more... )