Malinda Poetry

What are we but passing mirrors just carriers of stones as word or music pebble or nostalgia; passing mirrors that's what we are object...

When words are not enough or too much  and their verticality bends into an arrowhead of retribution when the maladies of incoheren...

She feels for rabbits pets that breed and breed and when giving can’t keep pace have to be sterilized; she feels for rabbits t...

Vacancies are painted in blue and green  color proxy straws  on dry river beds  where strangled fish hearts  are quietly buried...

It's not as it used to be: the world's the same the same alphabet and familiar words occasional reasons to smile to myself many rea...

Something brushed the surface of a gin and tonic moment something sank into liquid sorrow in the retelling of retold stories something cut ...

First there was the word and the word became flesh and the flesh in its rise and in its collapse weakness that is so compelling turne...