parched with a wet whistle and smooth as a thistledown caterwaul the stalling we do as a call-in show grows leaps and bounds aboveground when the moon wakes up too full but the pull of the tides waxes poetic with a hectic schedule to spread across sheets and slip undercover and nobody dreams when they're dead
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justme
side note
While this blog's original purpose was to keep myself honest in my practice of doing daily justwrites-- 10-minute freewrites from some unusual starting points-- it has meandered to occasionally include other sorts of writing, to address other goals, and to even include other authors. Now, its main function is as a sort of verbal/ thought outcropping in public view. These are not polished pieces, and most are completely rough drafts. As some pieces may be developed through revision, your comments are most appreciated.
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