I’m a witness here for whatever you choose to write. It seems to me that you are writing him when you’re writing Darger. Maybe? “you are feral I am feral I keep my legs crossed at the ankle and my arms inside the ride at all times but it’s tricky it’s tricky and it seeps out into my pungent reality” is just whoa and wow.
Dear Elizabeth, thank you and yes I think you’re right especially in these prose poems but I didn’t recognize it until yesterday when I cobbled the poems together with my other writing and there it was. XORebecca
I hope he's dead. I hope they're all dead, but not the dead of a party favor dead rather the dead as a door nail dead. I think that one means really really dead never popping up with the tulips dead not the darling buds of May dead. Dead persistently and lavishly. A rope swing dead. The queen said 'off with his head' dead.
Dearest girl, I know what it took for you to write this. How brave you are. How fierce. The keeper of the flames. Fan the flames and write and swallow the coals and write. Then grab hold the rope and pull yourself up. We are all of us waiting to lift you up. And to hold you.
Mary I think it’s time ignoring my head in the sand instincts ♥️ (thank you for always reading) and I just realized today that when I was writing about Henry I was writing about him too. XoxoR
Dear Shoun, my Luminous Cloud, my Coyote, I am so glad you’re here with me. We have some years under our belts don’t we? I can still see you curled up in front of my fireplace reading your poems about the Hard Things. I know you know. Much love my friend.
I’m a witness here for whatever you choose to write. It seems to me that you are writing him when you’re writing Darger. Maybe? “you are feral I am feral I keep my legs crossed at the ankle and my arms inside the ride at all times but it’s tricky it’s tricky and it seeps out into my pungent reality” is just whoa and wow.
Dear Elizabeth, thank you and yes I think you’re right especially in these prose poems but I didn’t recognize it until yesterday when I cobbled the poems together with my other writing and there it was. XORebecca
I hope he's dead. I hope they're all dead, but not the dead of a party favor dead rather the dead as a door nail dead. I think that one means really really dead never popping up with the tulips dead not the darling buds of May dead. Dead persistently and lavishly. A rope swing dead. The queen said 'off with his head' dead.
XXXXXXXX Beth AKA Shoun (Luminous Cloud)
Dearest girl, I know what it took for you to write this. How brave you are. How fierce. The keeper of the flames. Fan the flames and write and swallow the coals and write. Then grab hold the rope and pull yourself up. We are all of us waiting to lift you up. And to hold you.
(Rebeccabeccabecca) oh honey you’re going to bring the tears. Big big love, RtL
Hell yes. Oh fucking hell yes. Here you are. Here you go. If you want to.
Mary I think it’s time ignoring my head in the sand instincts ♥️ (thank you for always reading) and I just realized today that when I was writing about Henry I was writing about him too. XoxoR
So very brave, Rebecca. Sending love.
Xoxo
Barbara
Thank you, darling. Sending love.
Rebecca
Dear Shoun, my Luminous Cloud, my Coyote, I am so glad you’re here with me. We have some years under our belts don’t we? I can still see you curled up in front of my fireplace reading your poems about the Hard Things. I know you know. Much love my friend.