Sta.sh
Theme
.
this journal 
Total prizes reach 1000 
But of course there are always the rules......
Please please please fave the journal!
Make another journal about this giveaway and provide a link of that journal in the comments (this will help spread the word about this giveaway)
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handwritten copies, man. my prices are flexible but i have not had a single person EVER contest them, and it would mean the world to me if you inquired further via note! <3
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The written bird grows wingsI write 'bird'
and it grows wings
flaps weakly around the page,
too cumbersome
a shape for flight
and only able to move
in one direction.
red at the end of the dayRed catches the sun,
throws it at our face
in a bullrush triumph
at the day's end.
The house is too quiet
and there are no trains
that go through this town,
so we listen to blues
on a local radio broadcast
and share what we've got.
We shake what we've got
and consider being nude
models for hire but only
for quiet strangers who
lock the canvases away
afterward. Like our bodies
are shameful secrets
in acrylic paint
but not in midair.
poem 22a poem here for closure
on a nonevent, i grow it the tender person
let it catch its first bleating breath
on a bench that isn't there
it sits in my house speechless for days
i gave it water and new socks
but it
just can't seem to get on with things
home is not homethe home is not the home.
the home consists of broken walls,
dirty corners
and creaking doors.
some windows you can't open,
the glass will fall to pieces if you try.
the home is not the home.
the home consists the popcorn ceiling
going yellow from years of smoke
and years of dust and years of us
slowly killing ourselves.
the home is not the home.
nor is outside of the home the home,
the fields of dead grass and the holes
in the driveway get bigger every time
we leave, every time we return.
the evergreens turn brown
and start to lean over to the side,
too tired to stand.
we are too tired to stand so we sit
on the porch and it starts
silver foresti am arrogant in my underestimation,
in my utter certainty
of solitude
my sadness cannot be alleviated
through tender touches
i am disturbing others
not letting them forget
what would suffice, what would qualify
as closeness or warmth
to me
feels trivial
& love is a candle's flame
loneliness akin to sun
the road aheadthe road stretches out
six hours ahead,
ten hours ahead
three days ahead
from where my feet
now stand planted, there are mountains
that break over the horizon
like a tempest. the trees still whisper
legends and myths together in the purple night.
the stars create a tapestry
there, constant presence of light
in the dark sky.
the road stretches out,
three days ahead
one week ahead
a month ahead
it reaches the ancient Pacific,
never placid,
always churning with hidden anger.
the cliffs give way
to the deliberate attacks of the sea,
the land slips down and finds comfort
away from the waves
settled at the bottom.
FearLove wrenches double on a street corner,
chest full of dripping tar,
a cough that will not go away.
I've got lots of war paint if you need.
no war paint o deer