Catching My Breath

I know, I know, my writing has been spotty (at best) for the last couple months. Ironically, this wordless patch … More

You begin this way:

This is your hand, these are my hands, this is the world,
which is round but not flat and has more colors
than we can see.

Paint the scene now, before ship takes a dive.

Who is the Weakest Link?

What I pull out may render sad or jolly; Too big for my britches?

Every race needs a winner.

He takes his finger and puts it to my chest.

Though today
We are
Dazing
While mindlessly
Grazing

I’m in here.
Scared to death
When perfection eludes.

Such a claim to…
ignominious… glory?

how did we go from
hairy bodies with clean faces
to bare skin and bushy beards?

He doesn’t come / when you call / usually.

I still don’t know where to start.

The clouds always part

When will I see the sea
for what it is
and what it will always be?

For in the end,
Love Runs to Us,
Grasps Us,
And Refuses to Ever let Us go.

Whatever form that functions is the thing
That proffers wisdom, be it balm or sting.

wisps of potential
precipitation
occlude
the sun’s rays,
goosebumping
my flesh
which was recently warm.

Little things piled up. Thing which, under normal circumstances, would have rolled off my back, but they ALL. HAPPENED. AT. ONCE.

Snow falls and then melts

	Ben Kohns on Catching My Breath
	M. Oniker on Catching My Breath
	Birthday buddy on You begin this way:
	Ben Kohns on what will the waves do with th…
	Ben Kohns on what will the waves do with th…