popsiclesongs.blogspot.com

popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme

2011 began disastrously; a bête noir casting grave shadows on me. The days were. Like a top losing momentum, a. Mad gyre spinning wider and wider into a confused sky. And I the falconer was losing sight of her falcon. Till July came along, and gathered the wild, wobbling skirt of my top back to its axis. Epiphany are not one to write books about. They're tiny and fleeting in perspective but enormous for me. They pull me back to who I am and what I'm made of. But I digress. In the Bengal club. I grew to d...

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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme | popsiclesongs.blogspot.com Reviews

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2011 began disastrously; a bête noir casting grave shadows on me. The days were. Like a top losing momentum, a. Mad gyre spinning wider and wider into a confused sky. And I the falconer was losing sight of her falcon. Till July came along, and gathered the wild, wobbling skirt of my top back to its axis. Epiphany are not one to write books about. They're tiny and fleeting in perspective but enormous for me. They pull me back to who I am and what I'm made of. But I digress. In the Bengal club. I grew to d...

<META> KEYWORDS

1 an incurable romantic

2 this is it

3 life in all its face smacking glory

4 moment

5 my moments of

6 why did

7 for us

8 returned

9 bachelor

10 scars

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an incurable romantic,this is it,life in all its face smacking glory,moment,my moments of,why did,for us,returned ,bachelor,scars,on my tape,and the,inevitable,2 comments,email this,blogthis,share to twitter,share to facebook,share to pinterest,2 go drunk

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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme | popsiclesongs.blogspot.com Reviews

https://popsiclesongs.blogspot.com

2011 began disastrously; a bête noir casting grave shadows on me. The days were. Like a top losing momentum, a. Mad gyre spinning wider and wider into a confused sky. And I the falconer was losing sight of her falcon. Till July came along, and gathered the wild, wobbling skirt of my top back to its axis. Epiphany are not one to write books about. They're tiny and fleeting in perspective but enormous for me. They pull me back to who I am and what I'm made of. But I digress. In the Bengal club. I grew to d...

INTERNAL PAGES

popsiclesongs.blogspot.com

1

popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: July 2011

http://popsiclesongs.blogspot.com/2011_07_01_archive.html

2011 began disastrously; a bête noir casting grave shadows on me. The days were. Like a top losing momentum, a. Mad gyre spinning wider and wider into a confused sky. And I the falconer was losing sight of her falcon. Till July came along, and gathered the wild, wobbling skirt of my top back to its axis. Epiphany are not one to write books about. They're tiny and fleeting in perspective but enormous for me. They pull me back to who I am and what I'm made of. But I digress. In the Bengal club. I grew to d...

2

popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: pornografia

http://popsiclesongs.blogspot.com/2011/01/pornografia.html

Everything is in the words. Like twisting the night into spools of time. sometimes I am still like the made bed, waiting for the weight of arms and legs and backs, and at others I am the dinner tray, wine and clams and reluctant poinsettias, set for dining. but all the while the television set threatens to burst into life. To think that rain can be alive in a square,. Where the wind, thick with salt, presses into the mast, breathing it on across the rough breadth, and the waves lash against the hull &#82...

3

popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: sunday bloody sunday

http://popsiclesongs.blogspot.com/2011/01/sunday-bloody-sunday.html

My parents officially handed me one with sheepish smiles when I passed my boards, unawares (again) that I had secretly tippled while they slept in Edenic bliss every Sunday alongside them. I was thrilled because I was done with the virgins. I jest not. And so I drank with relish ‘my’ Bloody Mary. I take a minute here for the shudders to ease out. No lemon wedges please. Is this most classic of drinks so damned hard to chance upon in its original form? Is its simplicity its undoing? In your drink. The...

4

popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: An incurable romantic

http://popsiclesongs.blogspot.com/2011/07/incurable-romantic.html

2011 began disastrously; a bête noir casting grave shadows on me. The days were. Like a top losing momentum, a. Mad gyre spinning wider and wider into a confused sky. And I the falconer was losing sight of her falcon. Till July came along, and gathered the wild, wobbling skirt of my top back to its axis. Epiphany are not one to write books about. They're tiny and fleeting in perspective but enormous for me. They pull me back to who I am and what I'm made of. But I digress. In the Bengal club. I grew to d...

5

popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme: 1962

http://popsiclesongs.blogspot.com/2011/01/1962.html

Is the professor in? There's something he might like to see.' The words were a rumble in his mouth. He is I'll fetch him for you.' I fought back the urge to ask what it was. Back in the house, the blood filled my cheeks again. I knew where he'd be. The wooden stairs creaked under my feet. The Aka brothers are here. They say there's something that you might like to see.'. Not for the world am I missing this.'. Not the best thing to do now. They will take their share first.' He gestured with his to...He la...

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popsicle songs and other poems that don't rhyme

2011 began disastrously; a bête noir casting grave shadows on me. The days were. Like a top losing momentum, a. Mad gyre spinning wider and wider into a confused sky. And I the falconer was losing sight of her falcon. Till July came along, and gathered the wild, wobbling skirt of my top back to its axis. Epiphany are not one to write books about. They're tiny and fleeting in perspective but enormous for me. They pull me back to who I am and what I'm made of. But I digress. In the Bengal club. I grew to d...

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