My husband died and
I began eating meat again.
The world is kill
or be killed.
Like a 15 year old boy,
my best words are 'fuck it'.
Howl at the moon,
Sleep with the deer.
Stemming from a line of
toughness
roughness
pickled livers
spanish flu immigrants,
a nail studded 2 by 4
in the concrete lot.
Like dressing beef jerky
in long blonde hair
and pretty pink blush.
Master's degrees in
the art of calming down.
Give me a hickory stick to bite.
Hang the placenta from the ceiling.
Display the raining blood.
Here are some pieces I've written and a smattering of my favorite poetry from other writers.
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