Reading Fastened to this heart are the words you speak, They rattle in my ribcage, fighting for release -- So much I cannot hear you anymore. Wrapped around these wrists are all your movements Constricting any bloodflow to my fingertips. It is worthless to touch you -- I know this. I could continue ...

Muse = a god inspiring to an artist, usually portrayed as female. Cat-cradle = a game of tying a string among your fingers. I'm trying to use the "murder/execution" metaphor to describe the artistic process -- I hoped to relieve the reader some gruesomeness by the "not your sister&quo...

Ooops Dar, I see how the way I posted that previous message could seem like a slight or an insult. I did not mean it that way. Apologies. I was taught early in my life that the most appropriate response to a compliment is always "thank you." So, thank you. :) Ok. I can't shut up. Leonard C...

Axle (with apologies to Leila from rec.arts.poems) The axle reclines upon the lawn, Bronzed by a freckle of dew from the dawn: Heroic, feining lassitude as the grass shades its loins. Downtrodden, it sits in a shroud of its skin: Now orange and frayed by the rut he was in. Hands pocketed and fond o...

Thanks for the n(v)ote. I'm not sure about the prose poem idea. I was trying to do some things with the line breaks that wouldn't work in a prose poem.

I have a rhymer around somewhere. I could post that.

Ryan. . .

Pepper you were a dragon to a seven-year old jumping rope. hot whispering of elastic through atmosphere and geiger-clicking on summer asphalt warned us to jump in time as we taunted you in sprechtgesang -- reciting hungry, violent poems -- you would snap at us, leaving bright pink stains on our ankl...

You do it tenderly, with silk wire Cat-cradled among your fingers, a halo At first, then a crown, then a blindfold. Whimsically, you will reach her nose. Give the string a little tug. Take a second To shape a new face for her. She won't mind. We are killing your muse, not your sister. But once past ...