and did you find
the happiness you were looking for?
the absence,
the sorrow,
the wounded metronome
beating within.
the dust collected,
sitting thick,
wiped away by your hands.
the metronome
beats in time once again.
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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
-
▼
2010
(584)
-
▼
January
(50)
- Where You Used To Be
- The Course Of Empire
- "You Don't Understand A Thing I Say"
- For The Girl In London
- The Usefulness Of Others
- IT'S COMPLICATED
- The End
- Tail Or.
- Perpetual
- The Function Of Memory
- Another Goodbye For Another
- Bad People
- In Her(e) The World Begins
- Menagerie
- Born Still
- Sprawled Out With No Reason In Order
- Everyday Horror
- What would daryl say?
- scribbles from another page
- detri
- The Sunshine For What It's Worth.
- An Inconvenient Gift
- Slug
- Sun Break
- My Advice/Maxims
- Rhymes & Hymns of the Listless
- Champagne and Sham Pain.
- Hear Knows When
- You Don't Even Have To Say It To Know
- Trees
- This Number Is No Longer In Service
- Tea Leaves
- Lines In Succession, Heart Bound Oppression
- Back And Forth
- Peace
- more lines
- Spraypaint
- Met.
- Gap
- Glass And Past
- Proving
- Masturbation
- Je Suis Vous
- Rambling Love
- A Darkness
- Shearing
- Frigid Sunrise
- Ghosts
- Curious Flame
- Birth
-
▼
January
(50)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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