little pieces and bits (of poems) that didn't make it 
     but maybe one day will .... 
(poem guts) 

the stove hums in the back of the room while black amber and cloves linger...

ever wonder how you were brought to the exact spot you rest?

i want to have poppies planted at my funeral.

i want to be bad, big, bold and sensitive.

for you, for me,
     the stars continue to bleed.