Street Musician Dresden

Scott Gilbertson
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Tipping Point

Tipping point
I choose to lean
The wash of night
The cat claiming my lap to
Sink into sleep
No room at this inn for
Running around
That’s enough of that
Only I am warm enough
Shaped enough
Right enough
To be his bed
He claims
And sleeps
I lean
Toward quiet

Beverly Delidow
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Ceramic Dragon

Anya Toomre
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Stanzas of grief (II)

hollow. not a word,
nor a sound, syllable, sigh.
an empty vessel

Helena Roth
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Sky King

Jayashree Krishnan
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Feeling like a bad mom

Marijke van Veldhoven
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you will know by the dog

walking me on a leash

that I am no witch

no fan of brooms

or flying

my pots are All Clad

scrubbed clean

and though i prefer

a gnarled wooden spoon

stained smooth from a thousand brews

you will know

from the neatly appointed kitchen

with matching knobs

no witch

lives here

my hair…
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Jennifer Hole


Noticing #1 [volume]

We were the last ones to arrive. Hungry of bodies that we had seen before but had not touched. Thirsty of smiles with volume. The volume of more than bi-dimensional experiences, the volume of textures that describes one another in touching by the volume of the sound of skins greeting each other. Scary moments of impulses of bodies calling for bodies. Flesh present and opening, inseparable from volume. Sounds, shapes and rhythms made of deep volume. Softness and roughness of skins who recognise each other in stuttering movements. The uncertainty of touch, the dangers of owned smells blending with the smells of those who had arrived before, alchemy-ing with the drunkenness of overwhelming…
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Imma J. López

28th of August

JL Grady
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I have been listening beyond my comprehension.

I have been listening beyond my comprehension.
I have watched birds flying, swirling, landing to feast in the backyard.
I have waited through the blue and frigid cold.
I have read about thinking classrooms where people gather round impermanence, grouped randomly…
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Amanda Judd

Space Is Not Empty | Memory | Awakening