polished?

This week, I wrote in a mail to someone explaining my bulimic writing process.  I'm from the vomit school of writing, I sit down and spew the stuff up, then tidy it up a bit.  Things happen in life, I swallow it all down, and then sick it back up, somewhat selectively.  It's not that life makes me sick, I just react to it stomach first.  My natural inclination is not to polish writing endlessly, to pick the perfect perfect perfect word because near perfect will do for me.  





So I was quite surprised to find how much I enjoyed the polishing up of a haiku series yesterday, adding pictures and creating a new Issuu "publication" for it.  Perhaps there is no thing as too much practice ;)  Click the picture to see the finished result!

afterwards

the bruises he left,

plum hued thumbprints on breast

fade to memories



-



today sour yellow

splashed on skin, dimmed fantasy

I hug to myself

Mugged

I am too weak and

you are too tempting, please

leave like a stormcloud.



Storm tossed reeds bounce back,

"you are strong, independent,

she needs me," he pleads.



My needs ploughed under

dark soil so yours can grow, forced

to my fallow time.



No coffin for this

love killed by your thoughtlessness;

naked mouldering.



Repeated goodbyes

touched to fiery sparks, puddled

blisters left to heal.



My essence pools,

slows to mirrored ice, blue sheened

to reflect you back.



also featured at The Camel Saloon

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unresponsiveness...

i cry in the bath

no matter how hard i try

there is no climax

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