Pheochromocytoma She huddles coiled amongst the swath of blackberry with her matrix of thorny needles, spewing forth her painful pricks. Nerve bundles lay excavating within shredded muscles. Pain caused by unsummoned moles that convert and blast into a red-brick wall, a boundary of sanity and lost childhood of her red-brick prison. Pallid pathways etch memories…
Category: ChewersMasticadores
”Testimony” Now On Chewers Masticadores
Testimony tangled tears unfold in burnt red leavesas October reins her tempest, sultry, yet encageddeciduous in nature, wool sweaters lose their sleeves,sanguine cheeks pale, your passion dies and empties me, enraged a hummingbird in torpor, my heart slowsyour frigidity bites like a rattler who yearns for heatlonely is my sinking vessel, not ministering where…
”September’s Garden” Now On Chewers Masticadores
September’s Garden Dawn, an awakening that beckons idyllic, downy light, an endowment gently warming my green and thirsty skin. The last remaining flowers. I am the protector of the wonderous scentsthat whiff their way, often, to unsuspecting humans. My limbs of love hide deep beneath the ground’s surface, close to the red brick path. I…
Publication of the Month and More . . .
I wanted to say a very special thanks to friends, readers of SpillWords Press NYC, and my family for taking precious time and effort to like the original post and then for voting for me. I feel extremely celebrated when my work is published by SpillWords. When my first Spillwords publication in March of 2020,…
“Nature’s Whisper” Now On Chewers And Masticadores
Nature’s Whisper your whisper crawls sheepishly intomy ear, singing me to sleepthe heavenly creature with a cleansing heartcries out, please, do not weepvelvet moss where you lay your headfeathers calm, a timid glancewildflowers beguile potted flowers to pullup roots, and dare to danceapples fall indulgently red like painted lipsa doe and two fawns eat their…
My New Poem “A Gift” Now Live At Chewers And Masticadores
A Gift I peel the night air off the fibers of my dress. His smells crack like paint on an old canvas. A rare gift from Barbados. His words travel up my spine with child-like anticipation. A gift, Hand-picked Sea Island cotton, his voice like the imposing breath of the cypress. Mementos of time-worn…
