The rays of the moon in my dance,
Lethal spillage of color.

I’m short on butterflies.
The hypocrites are barely saved.

When I lose my voice
Splendor will smell me.

Closed water storage area.

WIP 9th Letter

The yellow letter
Number 9
I can’t fathom the more dangerous work.

In my dressing pocket,
It’s a yellow nine.

I get my pancakes with extra syrup
When my husband makes breakfast.

I understand the shape of my body.
It is large and unrestricted.
And to come upon desire
With a desire for hidden light
Is to make lemonade in sum.

Egg yolk,
1980s hotpants
All 9 of my colors are yellow.

One book is very simple,
Don’t take 90 years to decide.

Taking emotional plans,
And you’ve gone over the edge with my name.

Plowing Through Winter

Angelica got a good Christmas break. I was sick the whole time, but she had fun and it was wonderful to have her home all day.

Angelica has a couple of lines to memorize for a school performance, so I will be working with her on those tonight.

Like everyone else, New Year’s made me think about what I want to do in 2020. I want to look into Christian publications, publish, print my digital art, and decide who I will be come for my 30s. I turned 31 in November and birthdays really make me think, especially now that I am in my 30s.


I walked down the road crying for milk.
I left a trace of ten behind me.

God as a musician.
God as a father.
God as a star.

I have no idea what fun is in my body.
Only dark memories of waking up yesterday
On the bank floor and covered with a foreign coin.

I chase a little,
Having more darkness in my right leg than my left.

Let the physics escape.

My milk went down warm.
I need a drink.

There are things that ordinary people don’t do,
But look.


The state of the art fog hides me.
When traveling I go hand in hand with the saints.

The tunnel is at the end of the light.
There is no difference between my moods
And my imperfect soul.

Yesterday is gone,
And his ashes were scattered by train.

Boiling water must be discussed in the pool.


My needs and desires grow
Like kudzu on you

Taking them from me is not stealing,
A label that disposes of bloodletting
To quiet its memories of such a beautiful heart.
You better not see it.

Nice need.
Silent seed.


Dark with coal mines and invisible cradles
I’m not enlightening.
I am not black.
here stands the misunderstanding of all His glory.

Newspaper; a decade’s worth of spandex.

Darkness circulates through the air
As a free agent in chaos.
I skip home above the ravine,
Watching the spectators struggle in the gorge.