Search Suzanne Crone
Posted in Poetry
The energy between us confounds itself.
If this recent slurry of challenge, and suffering, rib-cracking loneliness is fruitful, planting so much knowing, wisdom for harvest, then I am in.
There is something about the commitment to the rake that speaks volumes.
I suppose saying, "Forget about Michelangelo," is like saying, "Don't think of a zebra."
Let’s say, you love to watch pots of water come to a boil. I will get you a chair, So you won’t have to stand for eternity,
If he became a bowl of cherries, I would be, completely, lost.
Here's a paintbrush, now go find the hummingbird and give her a refresh. Then polish the eavestrough.
The sun is never late–rises and sets as we expect,
As if it’s on our schedule.
What if the thief is nothing,
But a vicious poetry dealer,
Hucking his loot from the back of his van,
Lost her with a deft button-hook around an
Outlier bin full of acorn squash