Comments Posted By ts

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» Posted By ts On 04.18.2017 @ 1:38 pm


As Chris lay in the dentists chair, a montage of experiences and feelings overcame her. She was laying down staring up at that bright light…almost like dying. Should she go towards the light? No. She had to stay in the chair. While a little piece of her was going to die when the dentist pulled her wisdom tooth out, the rest of her would keep on going. Oh, the little death. Is this what getting old is like? Little pieces of you dying?

» Posted By TS On 06.01.2011 @ 9:51 am


Stay connected with me after the lesson. I might need to tell you something.Ok? I hope he connection will be not bad.

» Posted By TS On 04.06.2011 @ 10:05 pm


The tide. tidy tide tide. why always tide? everyone gets the same word, tide. But it means something different to everyone who reads it. interesting no? My tide is your tide, but it is also mine alone.

» Posted By TS On 06.22.2010 @ 1:47 pm


the gong sounds at dawn
the children awaken dazed

a disaster is there
bleeding over the town
under cover of clouds

they don’t know the sound
they stumble out of bed

their parents are gone
as they have been for years

the town is buried in ashes

» Posted By TS On 08.17.2009 @ 11:21 pm


He pawed at me, his scruffy hands catching the back of my jacket. Running, I heard the rip of cloth, and he struggled to get a better hold in the old, worn cloth of my jacket.

» Posted By ts On 07.23.2009 @ 11:14 am


say somthing,
dont leave me here to suffer with silence.
Silence is a deafening noise,
No love,
no compassion,
only emptyness,
dont leave me with that.

» Posted By ts On 07.14.2009 @ 11:17 am

sea mist.
Getel and loving.
It makes you long for what you never truly had.
Have you ever been in love?
The mothers arms wraped gently around you.

» Posted By ts On 07.14.2009 @ 11:10 am


gentel drum that carys the rythem of life. It follows the pattern of you , of the world, and is the source of life.

» Posted By ts On 07.13.2009 @ 11:21 am

gentel drum that carys the rythem of life. It follows the pattern of you , of the world, and is the source of life.

» Posted By ts On 07.13.2009 @ 11:10 am



» Posted By TS On 08.23.2008 @ 11:50 am


before there was tea there were golden shoes to glimmer in the girls took their turns twirling and i lean against the banister with my sharpest tourniquet in my pocket. Unflappable, the tie offs, the tin cans, the spoons with their scratched centers. The ladies, when they came, were lovely.

» Posted By ts On 03.08.2010 @ 12:09 pm


The name of the street, Main, bent in the grass. The shoes on the telephone wire that tell out of towners where to find their fix. A polaroid of a girl stretching an accordian across her bare chest.

» Posted By ts On 03.09.2010 @ 2:44 pm


one word and i’m barely there to see the parade. someone gave me a golden ticket and so i thought only of how i was regular, just regular and soon they would find out and send me back to the farm.

» Posted By ts On 03.10.2010 @ 1:15 pm


submit to waves. The best huckleberry I ever had was five in the evening on goat mountains and hour outside of tacoma. the dog had nearly i thought died from the heat and lack of water but near the hucklebery patch we found a stream. And white mountain goats loud as bullseyes against the dark grey mountains, no longer camoflauged by winter snow. i was thinking how i’d never tasted a huckleberry so sweet and how was it here and how the best tasting things come after near death, drought, and pain.

» Posted By ts On 03.16.2010 @ 12:24 pm


lay the bricks thick with frosted concrete. Let them ooze off the sides. Frosting one cannot lick. Her nails are thin with worry. The queen died. She died of grief.

» Posted By ts On 02.26.2010 @ 5:36 pm


Just trying to find a place to pound my nails and holding my hammer and having my tool belt and spending my last pennies on nails but is there a place is there no place for me to pound my nails?

» Posted By ts On 02.25.2010 @ 8:37 am


She wasn’t sure where it had gone. She only knew that she had to find it no matter what, or else her entire life might be ruined. She needed to keep those two pieces of paper together! If The Boss didn’t read those two reports together, and in the proper order, he would never understand and he would never realize that she had done so much work.

» Posted By TS On 03.30.2010 @ 6:13 am


After I stall my car in the driveway in the morning, I know its going to be a bad day. It’s the first sign of off luck. Every time. Never fail.

» Posted By TS On 10.21.2009 @ 2:28 pm


April is harvest season in Afghanistan. The poppies talk slender necks sway. Their heads ooze white milk. For tea? For spoons? “Wolf” he said, without looking up from his paper.

» Posted By ts On 02.23.2010 @ 10:28 am


go with it into the ceiling. Move like a bean stalk in the dark with one speck of light at the end. my mother moved through the heroin tunnel but came out relatively unscathed: yellow skin from a challenged kidney which returned to opaque with time.

» Posted By ts On 02.19.2010 @ 10:27 am


the boy with the toy piano went to the natural history museum to interview the whooly mammoths. I brought my camera. we hid for days until a girl lifted up the dress of the table and said, “Gotchyou!”

» Posted By ts On 02.17.2010 @ 8:50 am


to fill the spaces in your pockets with honey. to let your hands stick. tarred and feathered with paper money–this is the next prank. our worthless dollars.

» Posted By ts On 02.16.2010 @ 10:15 am


what will give you snow will give you courage. Clouds and the never melt. I wanted to say, this is over. I wanted to say, it will not melt. But snow is temporary and cyclical. The glass outside contains our name for the season but does not say what is next. Three feet high and counting. To construct form cold things a place we could be warm in.

» Posted By ts On 02.11.2010 @ 11:19 am


what is red must go. what is green will plunder. We threw so many squash that the world was yellow yellow yellow tumbling after aghast faced leading ladies.

» Posted By ts On 02.10.2010 @ 8:52 am


keys to your life to house to your society to the name of the dog at the end of the street keyholes of slipstreams and dioramas and the story of a woman at the end of a street like a long dark hallway and the mirror of your father which is you and there are not keys for secrets like these

» Posted By ts On 01.01.1970 @ 12:00 am

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