BLOG OWNED BY BAILEY CHAMPAGNE
featured essays below, updated in real-time.
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Smell the dust of what I left. Lay my head. Recite echos of old insane melting the dark crevices of flesh brain. Pick apart the same ending from dead meaning. Same meaning to the dead end. Melting rain and embrace your never-end always going. Pre-meditated rehearsals of competency and my cat is scratching the gray read more.
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Sure, I have time. I always have time for you. Sure, whatever you need. Whatever you need. What do you need? Should I pack extra in case you don’t bring what you need? It’s hard for me to grasp I’m all you need. My smile you found between carnivorous testosterone and chemical weed. The inside read more.
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The sweet in-between. My ghost succumbs the spiritual machine that supports both forward time and the traveling me. Life is losing the idealized time only to find a newer sense of keeping a winning score. It evens out, in-between the end and what’s more. Nothing’s gonna change my world. Nothing’s gonna change my world. Thoughts read more.
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Southerners know the smell of rain like the cedar they splinted with a kindergarten foot. My bedroom drywall that I crushed in my teens. Between my white four corners, I found a perching window for my bent legs to find held. When I jump, I crash through the branches just to land among the roots read more.
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My soul song is a parroted reprise. The ballad of bachelors is a scream of evolutionary thoughts demoralized by agency and enterprise. Women can look through masculine eyes and hear concise images of the words they think. Nuns looked into my wide eyes and claimed my female agency was a gift for my husband to read more.
AUSTIN TX USA , FOR NOW
The Champagne Soapbox 