xanthan gum

Is nothing just a part of everything, as shadows are to empty light and how blackness is the presense of color? Dark air from the smoldering cigarettes of war burn ...

Rushed moments in an adrenaline scramble for success, our kisses missing each other in an electrical storm between synapses and society. We, anger issues and beauty-chasing aside, are a passionless ...

*repaint , perhaps ? I love the reference to the specific colorcard 8s. It makes the adjectives vibrant. I think the last line is too long to make it climatic. ...

Was that entire segment on snipers nessasary, or was it just an example drawn out for the point of my interest? Preaching quality hardly preserves it, but I think competition.. ...

red knuckles blister and pop, (white bone and whiplash) longing to knead calluses in fleshy whores, harvests of wheat and cherries and lips. but these last few weeks will grind ...

During the card game metaphor and the last bit of the poem, the speaker has a mocking tone about them, which I love - it drives the reader to continue, ...

I love the revision of the first three lines - much clearer!

I think so such a short poem, repition should be avoided, as it only looks like it was a tool to add length. In any case, the abrupt, punchline ending ...

On the contrary, I love "dirt-dirty". It's outstanding and original. In line 7, though, this long list of verbs could use some revision. I think that that rush you were ...

It's simplistic and beautiful. You're imagery is focused and perfect. I encourage you to direct this talent to unleash words you've longed to use to impact the auidence.

[s]Once,[/s] I drank from spattered heroism. Lines of nobility splintered like knives into my skindepths, misting my perception: [s]then,[/s] bitter yesterdays tore dreams from reality[s];[/s], [conju

I found you in some of the out-of-focus pictures from a couple of years ago. In a way, I’m glad I never said I loved you. I let you fly ...

Sick from yeastless bread, I keep my tongue at the top of my mouth and await your return in the doorway, chill filling the front hall - I still think ...

These days we are reminded that we are the haunted, not the haunts, of this town. Standing on doorsteps, calm as air before a storm, we find ourselves caught in ...