Trucks are prohibited...but you are always welcome

Monday, May 2, 2011


I have dirt and grit and mud on my face, caked in my eyes so I can no longer see the light. I wipe it away with equally muddy hands, wiping and wiping and never any cleaner for my troubles. I want so desperately to have my face cleaned, but I know before I can I must wash my hands. If only I could see to wash them.

I know this may make no sense to you, but I have no other way to describe what I am feeling.


  1. You express yourself amazingly.

    Would you ever consider signing on for this month's 'Writers' Wednesday' on my blog? (No, this isn't me spamming, promise.)

  2. <3

    I'm hear to listen if you want to ever talk in less cryptic forms, but your poetry is lovely.