from the grass in which
it is embedded,
the moist
dirt teems with life
squirming to hide in
darkness once more.
Do we return the rock
to its place
or leave the dirt
exposed to the sun?
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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)
-
▼
May
(47)
- Broken Glass
- Yes. Yes, We Could.
- Home By Any Other Name
- Why?
- It's A Long Way To The Beach
- Evening
- Esperanza
- The fairy tale came true for you.
- Disappearing Act
- Dudes & Damselles
- Plantlife
- Over Turning The Rock
- RE: Words
- Genre Jargon
- Plate Tectonics
- Post
- the Why.
- The Final Meeting
- breaking time
- Conclusion Written In The Middle Of A Bottle
- Small Kindness
- Essential Knowledge Of The Western World
- A Smattering Of Random
- Communion
- this Demon
- The Creator Has A Master Plan
- Crystal
- Photographs
- Girls I've Known
- This Weekend Wasn't Enough
- Little Ducks
- Within Grasp
- Wine/ing
- Pieces Of The Past
- But is it true?
- Weathering This
- Restraining A Blossoming Flower
- Factism
- Exquisite
- Fresh Tendrils
- Razors Razors Razors
- Free Write #1
- Splatter The Wall With Red
- In Heaven
- Helen Oh Helen
- sc old
- Who and Where?
-
▼
May
(47)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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