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The Noise Of Trouble
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
Monday, November 29, 2010
The Children We Were, Are.
Like children
we sang and
danced to a
rhythm of
our own
making,
forgetful
of the
world,
joyous in
our song.
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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
Hank
Vonnegut
Carver
Pynchon
Ruefle
Wilde
Rochefoucauld
Joyce
Rogers
Heraclitus
Music
TNOT
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Chain Letter Author
Dionysian Dialect
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Bird Song
Goddess
The Children We Were, Are.
rage
Don't always wear your heart on your sleeve, it's ...
Someday Your Prince Will Come
Clever Fucker
ideal
Fractal Inspiration
Her Arrival
Todays Afternoon Fiction Romance
Red Lion
Archaeologist
Midnight Passage
King Wild Heart
The Darkness at the Edge of the Light
If we were young forever we would never learn from...
The Great Deceiver
Unexpected Guests
Speak Easy
remember to throw it away
Boris
Re: Lunch Poems
nothing
Anonymous Ghost
where it happens
a normal love
My Opinion On Religion & Politics
Only One Thing Left to Give
Maple
On Writing
the body at rest
Love Poem
Problems Of The Civilized World
MVMT
What Did The Universe Do To Deserve This?
Your eyes are gleaming with the same dreaming we a...
That Which The Prophets Heard
estrangement
Her
seeing you
Varnish
proof
Red Rivers
A Vision Of The End
The Return Of...
Pigs, Wolves & Sheep
expulsion from the throat
When
for the snails of the world
Endless Onion
The Prince
what's been lost / what still remains
shadoeye
mid day dream (1 of 4 short pieces for _._. )
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About Me
R
I'm an outgoing introvert, maybe you're one too.
View my complete profile
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