Saturday, October 24, 2009

Slivers Of Words Written On Scrap Pieces Of Paper

keep it short & simple &
always moving.


The changing seasons don't change much around here.


Heroes always die.


I'm leaving but I've got nowhere to go.


The Collapse Of The Internal Horizon.


An Altered Sense Of Reality.


Where will the page end?
Where will the reel run out?
When will the well run dry?


It's called salvation
Darling. It's called
salvation sweet
heart.


the intangible feeling of emptiness and loneliness.


fraying like a shoelace stepped on pavement one too many times.



walked through the door, your sheets rising with every breath,
moonlight falling upon your head.



the death of love
the soul decays
at a hastened pace
when the heart
loses the very thing
it embodies.


S.L.M.
Do you think you can
come back
like nothing happened,
nothing changed?
It's not that easy
It's not that easy
for me.

ID
We struggle
with the
definition
of ourselves.
Are we
who we
chose to be
or
are we
more than
mortal flesh?


The Overcast Beach
Gnarled branches
reach through the water like the hands of a dying man.
Gray sits atop the still horizon,
a peaceful dread.
water
r i p p l e s
from a drop
descending.
Wings expand,
take flight.
Closing the distance.


Rain
Have we become
so disconnected
from our ancient heritage
that we treat the rain
as a marauding menace
laying siege to our
comfort and ease?


Jezebel
You look

just like

your

namesake.

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