the writer

the writer

as simple as she is


as free as she is


thoughts always

mind or paper

tip of pen

crest of love


yet found-ed

the writer

as sure as she is


bares her soul

buries her gaze

life in words

creating pictures

big love sur


henry, anais, jack

my poetic heroes

dirty floors, and

transatlantic pbj’s

city lights and

creeks of shame

the writer looms in head

searching for peace

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