The Best Fluffy Pancakes recipe you will fall in love with. Full of tips and tricks to help you make the best pancakes.
IHow much love can I pour into you I saidbefore it runs out of youlike undigested spinachor shall I stuff youlike a ritual goosewith whatever you thinkyou want of meand for whose killingshall I grow you upto leave meto mournin…
Hidden in a forest of questionsunwilling to embrace blackthorn treesto yieldto go into madness gracefullyor alonethe woman is no longer youngshe has come to hate slowlyher skin of transparent metalthe sinuous exposure without reprieveher eyes of clayheavy with the fruit…
Tadpoles are legless and never learn to curtsybirds cannot peein springblack snakes go crazybowing out of the presence of kings.Digging beneath a river bedwhose heart is black and rosyI find the sticky ooze I learnedrejecting all my angels.It puzzled my…
In this misty place where hunger finds usseeking directionI am too close to you to be useful.When I speakthe smell of love on my breathdistracts youand it is easier for meto moveagainst myself in youthan to solve my own equations.…
In other destinies of choiceyou could have come redheadedwith a star between your thighsand morning like tender mushroomsrising up around your toescurled like a Shantung woman’s toespausing to be lovedin the rice fields at noonor as sharpened young eyeteethguarded in…
Belligerent and beautiful as a trapped ibisyour lean hands are a sacrificespoken three timesbefore dawnthere is blood in the morning eggthat makes me turn and weepI see youweaving pain into garlandsthe shape of a noosewhile I growwearyof licking my heartfor…
Nobody lives!cried the thin manhigh on the sunny stone stepsof my housedreaminghe liedI saw him comeflyingdown to the groundwith a thud. I touched his bruised facewith my fingersin the low sun. A man crept upto a golden cupto beg for…
“It’s the small deaths in the supermarket” she saidtrying to open my headwith her meat white cleavertrying to tell me howher pain met minehalfwaybetween the smoking ruins in a black neighborhood of Los Angelesand the bloody morning streets of child-killing…
Trying to see youmy eyes growconfusedit is not your facethey are seekingfingering through your spaceslike a hungry childeven nowI do not wantto make a poemI want to make youmore and lessa partfrom my self.
In the center of a harsh and spectrumed cityall things natural are strange.I grew up in a genuine confusionbetween grass and weeds and flowersand what colored meantexcept for clothes you couldn’t bleachand nobody called me niggeruntil I was thirteen.Nobody lynched…