She was home but not
the world seemed different to her
Her senses muted
Andy Griffith like in her vision
Downed power lines noted
She picked them up
Knowing she should be shocked
Finding it odd
She was not
She hurried under them
A transformer in the distance sparked
Her children but not hers
Played in her garage
She protected them against the power lines
Then ****, they were gone
A stranger child sat upon her dryer
Laughing as though possessed
The laughter was not human
Demon at best
Chills down her spine she approached
His laughter stopped
To her these words spoke
"You will not get to keep them
He will have them to his self
You will not be able to protect them
They will be his
No one else"
She then awoke
It was just a dream
Hurried down the hall to check
Her children in their beds
Safe and sound, fast asleep
After kissing each again
She turned, her room to head
She heard the demon laugh
Turned back and saw
Fear again gripping her
*He sat upon their bed......

grew my hair too long, watched it get cut and
all the snippets
fell to the floor,
decided my hair had not been
long enough
started all over again,
longer longer deeper longer,
pasting the snippets together
hoping the parts are greater than the
hole I am forever filling with
Haagen Daz vanilla buttermilk,
wise choices of words,
the satisfactory completion
of finishing and the joyous anticipatory
of starting all over again

undecided if today will be
a day where I tend my love, or,
need more being attended to

every poem I every writ
is just a
snip snip snip
of instant instances seconds capsulated
that run on into one long sentence my
gorgeous blonde 5th grade teacher, who had a crush on me,
(and vice versa)
would red ink wink critique as a
run on sentence and I could not agree more

snip snip snip
becomes a life
of one run on sentence to living larger and longer,
want a becoming life,
life becoming comely,
only commas and no periods,
period

exhausting the indecision of living
so pasting snippets seems more manageable
but not so much fun, indeed, in deed,
too much **** work, this cutting and pasting,
so gonna give you the rough and tumble of my words
as they pour out and as long as they keep coming back,
I'll keep on pouring and ******* and godpraise
this word well that runs dry never

my poems are not too long -
if you have learned to taste wisely -
how to taste gloriously languorously language

my poems are not too long,
life is too short to leave all these
demoted spaces of empty,
in between the raging and the loving,
the aching, fretting and the heaven sending thrills
of thanking the powers to be for everything
I got blessed with,
even my curses are just the flip side of*

snip snip snip

so much from just one cup of coffee

<>
six minutes of Aug 13, 2016 life, something you might call a
snip snip snip
SIP