More Scraps

I got hit with these at work. Terribly inconvenient, actually, although I did manage to scrawl some notes onto my hand with a pen. And now I look like I'm about eight years old.

Speaking of errant ink, did I mention that when I was re-filling my (glorious) fountain pen the other day, I somehow ended up with a streak of ink on my inner thigh? I don't know how that happened, but it was kind of hot.

Also, I have been sending work off to places. It would be pretty damn fantastic to get a few things published here and there. I wonder if I should stop blogging things if I'm sending them out?

And I need to blog about Amanda Palmer. Because she was epic.

Anyway, the poetry business:

You are
Balm
A reassurance
Oft-spoken.

--

Like a shuddering mountain,
You tremble atop my
Wrist - all hesitant delicacy.
I mask your eruptions and
Settle your seethe.

--