unbendingsecrets.blogspot.com

Intractable Whispers

Friday, March 20, 2015. With thanks to Vievee Francis. My sister died. He raped me. They beat me. I fell. To the floor. I didn’t. I knew children,. Their smallness. Her corpse. My fingernails. The softness of my belly, how it could. Double over. It was puckered, like children,. Ugly when they cry. My sister died. And was revived. Her brain burst. Into blood. Father was driving. He fell. Asleep. They beat me. I didn’t flinch. I did. It was the only dance I knew. It was the kathak. My ankles sang. An exerp...

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Intractable Whispers | unbendingsecrets.blogspot.com Reviews

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Friday, March 20, 2015. With thanks to Vievee Francis. My sister died. He raped me. They beat me. I fell. To the floor. I didn’t. I knew children,. Their smallness. Her corpse. My fingernails. The softness of my belly, how it could. Double over. It was puckered, like children,. Ugly when they cry. My sister died. And was revived. Her brain burst. Into blood. Father was driving. He fell. Asleep. They beat me. I didn’t flinch. I did. It was the only dance I knew. It was the kathak. My ankles sang. An exerp...

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Intractable Whispers | unbendingsecrets.blogspot.com Reviews

https://unbendingsecrets.blogspot.com

Friday, March 20, 2015. With thanks to Vievee Francis. My sister died. He raped me. They beat me. I fell. To the floor. I didn’t. I knew children,. Their smallness. Her corpse. My fingernails. The softness of my belly, how it could. Double over. It was puckered, like children,. Ugly when they cry. My sister died. And was revived. Her brain burst. Into blood. Father was driving. He fell. Asleep. They beat me. I didn’t flinch. I did. It was the only dance I knew. It was the kathak. My ankles sang. An exerp...

INTERNAL PAGES

unbendingsecrets.blogspot.com

1

Intractable Whispers: Jim Morrison poem, Untitled

http://unbendingsecrets.blogspot.com/2011/10/jim-morrison-poem-untitled.html

Thursday, October 27, 2011. Jim Morrison poem, Untitled. Shake dreams from your hair. My pretty child, my sweet one. Choose the day, and the sign. Of your day,. 1st thing you see. A burnt tree, like a giant. Primeval bird, a leaf,. Dry and bitter, crackling tales. In its warm waves. Sidewalk gods will do for you. The forest of the neighborhood,. The empty lost museum, &. The mesa, and the Mt.'s pregnant. Monument above the newstand. Where the children hide. Labels: jim morrison poetry. By the wonderful S...

2

Intractable Whispers: 100 Bells

http://unbendingsecrets.blogspot.com/2015/03/100-bells.html

Friday, March 20, 2015. With thanks to Vievee Francis. My sister died. He raped me. They beat me. I fell. To the floor. I didn’t. I knew children,. Their smallness. Her corpse. My fingernails. The softness of my belly, how it could. Double over. It was puckered, like children,. Ugly when they cry. My sister died. And was revived. Her brain burst. Into blood. Father was driving. He fell. Asleep. They beat me. I didn’t flinch. I did. It was the only dance I knew. It was the kathak. My ankles sang. Subscrib...

3

Intractable Whispers: An exerpt from Beretta Bridge by Cory Page

http://unbendingsecrets.blogspot.com/2015/02/an-exerpt-from-beretta-bridge-by-cory.html

Sunday, February 8, 2015. An exerpt from Beretta Bridge by Cory Page. The river tells of a great lesson that we humans have forgotten. We believe we are so in control of this world that we lose ourselves to that illusion, and are consumed by it. The river says that every life has its peaks and troughs. These waves push us on down a path that will take us far from where we started, and even farther from anywhere we think we should end. Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). Anyone lived in a pretty how town.

4

Intractable Whispers: July 2013

http://unbendingsecrets.blogspot.com/2013_07_01_archive.html

Friday, July 26, 2013. Our father who art in a penthouse. Sits in his 37th floor suite. And swivels to gaze down. At the city he made me in. He allows me to stand and. He needs the land I stand on. I in my darkened threshold. Am pawing through my pockets. The receipts, the bus schedules. The matchbook phone numbers. The urgent napkin poems. All of which laundering has rendered. Loose change and a key. Go ahead, ask me if I care. I got the answer here. I wrote it down somewhere. I just gotta find it.

5

Intractable Whispers: Still Here

http://unbendingsecrets.blogspot.com/2014/03/still-here.html

Sunday, March 30, 2014. To whoever lingers,. I'm still here, still living. Probably more than I have for most of my life. I'm just out adventuring, learning, experiencing. But most of all finding nspiratin. I may have some new things to share soon. Much love to you all (or few). Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom). The Lovesong of J. Alfred Prufrock. I am currently reading Selected Poems by T. S. Eliot and I have simply fallen in love with him. I had never read much, if any, of his poems. You later includ...

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unbendingsecrets.blogspot.com

Intractable Whispers

Friday, March 20, 2015. With thanks to Vievee Francis. My sister died. He raped me. They beat me. I fell. To the floor. I didn’t. I knew children,. Their smallness. Her corpse. My fingernails. The softness of my belly, how it could. Double over. It was puckered, like children,. Ugly when they cry. My sister died. And was revived. Her brain burst. Into blood. Father was driving. He fell. Asleep. They beat me. I didn’t flinch. I did. It was the only dance I knew. It was the kathak. My ankles sang. An exerp...

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