skip to main
|
skip to sidebar
poetry and prose by stephen chute
Tuesday, March 14, 2017
restless leg
her leg
shakes in her sleep,
all night,
stirs
up the blanket,
the sheets.
if her
foot was in a tub
of milk
we'd have
butter by morning.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Newer Post
Older Post
Home
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Followers
Blog Archive
►
2018
(762)
►
April
(53)
►
March
(199)
►
February
(232)
►
January
(278)
▼
2017
(3286)
►
December
(346)
►
November
(302)
►
October
(282)
►
September
(304)
►
August
(334)
►
July
(340)
►
June
(202)
►
May
(192)
►
April
(234)
▼
March
(226)
maybe i'll come around
maybe i'll come around
the pint bottle
the pint bottle
the reunion
the reunion
from russia with love
from russia with love
the dishwasher
the dishwasher
borrowing
borrowing
she waits for me
she waits for me
we have bacon
we have bacon
blood suckers
blood suckers
she used to know
she used to know
take a number
take a number
away from home
away from home
the note on the counter
the note on the counter
how are you?
how are you?
the reviews
the reviews
with snow on the ground
with snow on the ground
second acts
second acts
two weeks of work
two weeks of work
blue peeps
blue peeps
limbo
limbo
in the next life
in the next life
bye bye
bye bye
what a day it is
what a day it is
i have a horse
i have a horse
the right words
the right words
the perfect couple
the perfect couple
still life
still life
calling for pick up
calling for pick up
shrimp night
shrimp night
friendly lighting
friendly lighting
out of water
out of water
seeing the light
seeing the light
a perfectly good romance
a perfectly good romance
it's winter
it's winter
vincent
vincent
panning for gold
panning for gold
it's her birthday, i think
it's her birthday, i think
kill me a chicken
kill me a chicken
these days
these days
showers
showers
old jeans
old jeans
she is the sun
she is the sun
going back to bed
going back to bed
the right words
the right words
the muddled middle
the muddled middle
from where she is
from where she is
a clean room
a clean room
what we become
what we become
getting around
getting around
we were younger then
we were younger then
►
February
(228)
►
January
(296)
►
2016
(3406)
►
December
(206)
►
November
(218)
►
October
(248)
►
September
(264)
►
August
(332)
►
July
(326)
►
June
(344)
►
May
(334)
►
April
(356)
►
March
(403)
►
February
(175)
►
January
(200)
►
2015
(1834)
►
December
(156)
►
November
(143)
►
October
(127)
►
September
(113)
►
August
(141)
►
July
(133)
►
June
(160)
►
May
(159)
►
April
(150)
►
March
(186)
►
February
(172)
►
January
(194)
►
2014
(2213)
►
December
(207)
►
November
(202)
►
October
(197)
►
September
(275)
►
August
(259)
►
July
(180)
►
June
(173)
►
May
(145)
►
April
(160)
►
March
(146)
►
February
(134)
►
January
(135)
►
2013
(1554)
►
December
(99)
►
November
(106)
►
October
(124)
►
September
(104)
►
August
(97)
►
July
(122)
►
June
(155)
►
May
(115)
►
April
(135)
►
March
(127)
►
February
(163)
►
January
(207)
►
2012
(1760)
►
December
(193)
►
November
(187)
►
October
(210)
►
September
(138)
►
August
(157)
►
July
(157)
►
June
(151)
►
May
(143)
►
April
(111)
►
March
(116)
►
February
(104)
►
January
(93)
►
2011
(1385)
►
December
(71)
►
November
(81)
►
October
(92)
►
September
(102)
►
August
(89)
►
July
(109)
►
June
(113)
►
May
(131)
►
April
(130)
►
March
(143)
►
February
(134)
►
January
(190)
►
2010
(1274)
►
December
(170)
►
November
(152)
►
October
(89)
►
September
(108)
►
August
(137)
►
July
(143)
►
June
(124)
►
May
(102)
►
April
(67)
►
March
(69)
►
February
(57)
►
January
(56)
►
2009
(230)
►
December
(45)
►
November
(41)
►
October
(48)
►
September
(60)
►
August
(36)
About Me
Stephen Chute
west springfield, virginia, United States
these are all fictional stories and characters and are in no way representative of any real experiences in my or anyone else's life, except for the dog poems.
View my complete profile
No comments:
Post a Comment