Introduced to the character of men as a child in a swimming pool, excited to learn how to swim, but learning so much more far too soon, as your teenaged hands swam between my legs under the water and the privacy of a kickboard. I was just barely a teen when your claims to love […]
You No Longer Define Me Read More »
broken thoughts burrow down deep into bed with lies both keep residence in the part of my brain where discernment lived before he went off to war. *** Linda Battson is a writer and artist living in Austin, Texas. She spends her days selling pens and her nights engaged with those she loves. Linda enjoys
Severed and lush, transplanted dream, the violet rhythm of presence speaking the universe into existence, spacetime, dreamtime.
Close to the Brane Read More »
When all the starlings, robins, jays Have given up and gone to nest, The crows refuse the calling night, Defer the final rest. Over the waiting conifers They improvise an arabesque, A final celebration to The dying fire in the West. Like fighter pilots when flight was new, Over the field they chase and dive,
So many profound and silly thought balloons Floating around, their emptiness unrevealed Until some random prick shows they concealed Only the age-old gas that all buffoons Emit, disguised in private metaphor. As if one thing in all this world stood need Of further mystifying, here’s more for you to read: Figure out what I’ve said,
On First Looking Into The Anthology of Modern Poetry Read More »
Cold as a dry cube of ice sticking to my tongue, your eyes freeze me in suspended animation, when all I wanted was a pretty lie, not the naked truth.