Bound within prisons of our own making
we rage against the uniformity of choices
which surround us. Dare we descend to
the depths and risk the surrender of past
victories in hopes of future conquest?
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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
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▼
2010
(584)
-
▼
February
(37)
- Chien / Pero / Dog
- This...again.
- Hypocrite
- In Space
- Another Night Lost In Downtown
- The End Of The Evening
- How She Does
- DONT CALL IT LOVE
- School
- Park Pantry or Everywhere and Anywhere
- Sweet Flower Of Youth
- La Voz De Un Angel
- A Vision Of Self
- Not A Poem
- Response To No One
- Another Kind Of Tension
- Sensation
- Dilemma
- A Split Dialectic
- My Dear
- A Love Less
- Time
- Womb
- Aftermath
- Morning Motivation
- An Edged Trifection
- Damselles
- The Hand Of
- Collapsing Chrysalis
- Lines Bound By Fate
- Passage
- ABC
- Falling In The Rain
- Axis At An End
- Vibrations
- Natural Order
- Rorschach In Your Eyes
-
▼
February
(37)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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