dawn, day, dusk
Published in

dawn, day, dusk

Dusk: clipped nails

In clipping my nails I find the ultimate symbolism for the savage animal in me. I seem to have tamed every other aspects of my body, yet my clipped nails never have surrendered. They simply refuse to comply. Every time I clip away a slice of nail, I essentially set free a little piece of me. It flies out to the air then lands on the floor, in plain sight, yet unseeable and forever unfindable once freed. I think this is its last, suicidal crazed attempt against my taming efforts, society’s taming efforts.

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This is a collection of short stories—micro-memoirs—for grapefruits, shoulders, volleyballs, Eurasian coots, grassy hills, monsters under the bed, laughters, and the like that lie in life’s riverbed. I crouch, look, pick them up, and spin them into language for you, my readers.

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ooaagarden

ooaagarden

An artist in, of, for, at life. My very life is my performance art. I write short and sweet (and savory) stories and poems in this grand performance ( •◡•) ♪

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