Letting Life Lead
My skis skid on fresh powder and wind breaks my face. A presence pursues.
“Apparitions collect the unwary,” I had warned. The enthusiast didn’t believe what his camera couldn’t snare.
I chase speed to the bottom. Totem markers constrain Dame’ Wit — sucker of souls.
Mouthless, she demands, “More. Bring.”
Vulnerable on main
My personal stories and musings
Find BIG inspiration in the little moments
Poetry that purrs. It's reowr because the cat said so.
The Literary (or Junk) Writings of Leslie Muzingo
Poetry, History, Mythology
Confessions of a White Trash Hoe