Rings me every time
he’s in town –
Tumbleweed, I call him –
a man I love to hate

He tints my normalcy
with neon rushes,
flames of screaming lust –

I’m better of without him
wish he’d lose my number…
well…maybe after next time.

(Tuesdays, I borrow from Twitter @Vjknutson.
Image my own. Piece is purely fiction, I promise)

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Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

22 thoughts on “Tumbleweed

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