On An Island Alone.
You don't have to say hello.
You don't have to say goodbye.
Cockroach
Flat on your back
Legs clasping inward
like praying hands.
The last spasms
of life
flicker through
then
nothing.
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It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
-
▼
2009
(385)
-
▼
July
(40)
- Ambivalence Strikes Ambition
- When The Escape Becomes The Prison
- Every Evening Turns To Mourn
- Motion
- This Is Why I Don't Like To Remember My Dreams
- Trash Bin
- Lay, Zee, Sun, Day.
- Mental/Physical
- Inevitable?
- Painful Flesh and Needed Money
- After this moment, EVERYTHING
- Trying To Reconnect
- Fill In The Blanks
- Asshole
- For my beloved family in Mexico, I miss you.
- A Constant Quest
- Early Morning from a Late Night
- In A Place Whores Did Business
- Why I Am Going To Be Late To Work Today
- Morning
- Mining The Light & Darkness
- Shards from the end.
- Killing Fields
- The Warmth Of The Morning
- We Are Undone, We Are Ending
- Before The Memory Is Lost
- Primal Primacy
- Dedicated To Innocence
- Sharing The Great & Small
- Frustrated Bastard
- La Ciudad De Los Angeles
- Dealing
- If my heart stops beating...
- The Width Of A Circle
- A City Stained With The Memory Of Years
- 'Merican
- How Dark Is Your Dark Side?
- As You Burn Out
- The Vain and Vapid
- Strange Light and Darkest Night.
-
▼
July
(40)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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