that old court was a graveyard.
memories of dead matches scattered
about the off
white lines. all the while I think
of you in a skirt, trying your best to learn
a forehand.
letters across state lines. fumbling words
of a boy scared, of a girl who knows
what she wants–
or, at least, she thinks
she does. want it. in this day and age…
Well, it looks like I've majorly lapsed on the poem-a-day habit. Not to worry. I'm taking a short break to finish the Balkey story line....
“What,” the young, scarred and scabbed Scib said, “did Mr. Pin calm him – Bixson-” And Balkey closed the gap as soon as the word left the...
Tell him Coral has finally gone sour and the Pin is as crooked as we all thought,” fryed Balkey and eyed the straight and tall, the...