leaves only memories of seasons past.
sunlight strays through gray;
a promise of times to come.
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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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2011
(705)
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May
(52)
- JCNYC
- tossed off
- Godliness
- Events of No Historical Importance
- summer game
- stress
- Scenes From An Ordinary Haunting
- fearlessly, or naively, we're braving the call...
- _ , ( ) & [ ]
- d id you notice when
- Sometimes you
- Digging
- in this darkness
- Don't hold your hope in your hand, release it int...
- The Ghost At Home
- Well?
- On Quality
- On Narrative
- vanishing points
- lifetime masquerade ball
- For Steven Hoffman / Gestalt Temperament
- Living Space
- Warranty
- When It's Your Turn
- infinite expanse
- how does the form function without reason? the ...
- Post-Rapture
- Ghost Machine
- a final death
- the pressure
- grains of sand begin falling like a harsh rain up...
- Associative Construction
- Will this rain never end?
- tongue
- Turning Point
- Between 1 a.m. and 6 a.m.
- Everything That Rises Must Converge
- the end of history will come in one final moment ...
- 2 things I should have probably written on a piece...
- black angel
- list
- Ashes & Bared Teeth
- on a circular path
- To All Women
- stare
- waking during a warm afternoon
- the end of winter
- boss
- Get yourself together dear. We need to get going....
- running river
- go ahead and ask...
- Mirrors Everywhere
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▼
May
(52)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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