If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.
Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
Sometimes I wonder about what makes something the thing that it is.
How many of qualities of a thing can you remove before it becomes something else?
If you took the heat from a flame, could you still call it Fire? Would you want to?
My daughter’s friends attend a photography camp over winter break. She practically seethes with jealousy. Why do they get to do this and she can’t?
“Life’s not fair!”
I try to appeal to her common sense – reminding her that four half days playing with cameras is no substitution for … Read the rest