~for Joanie Yes, we know about you, and none of that matters. We know how you keep turning over rocks, opening doors. I have no idea how it works, no idea if the whole world sees us as kin. How could she not? We know we are cut from the same cloth, you and me, an afternoon breeze around the neck, grateful for easy when it finds us. Even in black and white, we know how to marvel. EXACTLY Wow! Yes, and we know how to transform day to day, give patience to steady becoming. Our generation – once tucked up tightly in an oak gall, encroached the safe verges with indiscretions. We could not help it; they pushed through our skin, provoked by our grandmothers, and we crashed around like toddlers. We know it was necessary to be embarrassed and appalling, the only rungs to climb out of tepid dishwater. Of course, it was impossible to plan or know what or how to enter. Extemporaneous t
Kinetic Poetry - Subject to change without warning.