I worked on a letter today. Worked on its emotion. Like a child wearing pjs during Christmas roaring at themselves in the mirror. Found a funny thing in a thought, about a truck, about a tire, about a mud hole, and about a piece of nothing. Found you there wondering about everything else in a voice unheard unless spoken.
Women eat in parking lots
at grocery stores.
I recently watched an old women
hurriedly strip her gloves
from her hands,
and rip at the cardboard entrance
of her treat.
Eventually she pulled the pastry
from its home and unwrapped it
from its plastic coffin.
Alive again, she nibbled.
The old women didn’t notice me.
I was sitting in my truck.
I like to watch parking lots.
I see a lot of men sitting in their trucks.
We’re all waiting.
What the hell are we doing.
You decide lol. I’m not sure how to classify this. I think I should do this to him forever! Ha. 😀
It doesn’t take much.
A flip of a few words.
Blank pages turned different,
with the imprints of thought.
Think of the voices running
along every crevice of every mind
and remember about how a furrowed
brow tossed off a difference
only because it had been seen by another.
Sleep with the breeze just enough to embrace.
Who out there has used, or is currently using, the WordPress Premium plan?
If so, I have a few questions. I’m considering making the jump.
- “ability to monetize your site with ads” -How does this work?
- How many views equals “X” for revenue?
- If you transition, do your previous posts come along, or are they wiped out?
- Additional thoughts / pros vs cons.
Thank you! I’ll ‘see’ you in the comments section.
Some people Love.
Some hate, choking on vile they created.
A few dance in and out,
looking at things that look back.
I like to think, maybe, about a laugh
I didn’t know, then speak it into being.
For the ones who hate without knowing-
That’ll be for them to solve.
Death is but stitch in the side.
It doesn’t end.
But our memory will be there.
New Hampshire. White Mountains.
Photo taken by Matt’s phone.
To be identified is to be seen-
No matter how many days combine
into weeks, years, and more,
our small goals to be discovered by appropriate eyes
are not so small. And the trees that weep
over lost seeds are weeping for the joy
and love growing all around them.