the fluttering, palpitating rhythm that is me,
that tugs and pulls catches on a tune or a kind word and goes running with the wind? how many ways can I describe the way I feel in my fingers and the tips of my ears when you happen around? the pounding, shaking the floor i’m standing on, or a lightly lightly tapping metronome to the beat of your words? you’d think I’d be used to it by now - the marching band of drums that comes stomping, banging, blaring, as you float noiselessly through the room.
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journal entriessome poems, some prose, some in-between Archives
October 2020
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