the other night.
Saying goodbye in much
the same way
we had done before.
Falling away
from the weight of
it all, it was
for the best that we
said goodbye
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)
-
▼
October
(38)
- lo que veo es lo que quiero
- Dear Olive,
- Willful Isolation
- eyes without a face
- the night ran away from usbeneathe a blur of sound...
- Are You Just Like Me?
- another incomplete fragmented idea
- A Preferred Method Of Sanity
- What The Night Does During The Day
- The Loneliness Of Winter
- Bury Me In The Sky
- The Ring
- Let's Be Clear About This
- 3 Tankas
- Compass
- Question:
- Beautiful Grey
- Wishful Fiction
- Good Company
- Reminder
- Burial
- 10 10 10
- Two Trains of Thought
- fr agm e ...
- Finding The Ones Worth Suffering For
- seul
- The Mirrored Hand Of History
- Maybe In The Next Life
- Couch Sitting
- Getting To Bed
- The Ocean Is Falling From The Sky
- Predator
- le coeur de la nuit
- P.O.V.
- Debtors Prison
- Sirens of Morning
- The Birds of Morning
- Drama Queen
-
▼
October
(38)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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