Stop and smell the pot ash and seed hulls in the dirt--
The enamel of your ancestors
So wild and proliferate, that fields
Teem with hotly colored flowers to compete.
A sun that once roved orangely across van Gogh's eyes
Distills the corner, by a truck and your waiting friends.
Stop. Waste everything;
Now, I want you to look at me.
Name That Trauma:: Reader Lorraine: on a Lady Running Around Screaming While Burning Alive - This has been driving me nuts. It’s been practically forever, and I still cannot find what movie this scene was from. It’s the only scene I remember from t...
18 hours ago