Pecked to death by the black crow's pointed beak,
pathetic chirps of pain
echo as you are grabbed and carried away.
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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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2012
(436)
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June
(23)
- Colours of Motley
- Work and Non-Work (draft 2)
- To Grip / To Hold
- Afternoon Rest
- Preparing for Winter
- Hidden Library
- This Morning
- Thirst
- Turning memory into commodity.
- On Forgiving
- Epictetus In The Modern World
- Work and Non-Work
- What could you say to a turtle riding atop a pegac...
- IV
- the grinding of the wheel
- I NO MORE WHY II Onyx Index III Naming the Angels
- city trees
- At the end of the day (Draft 2)
- 7 Street and the 5 Freeway
- Whittle (edited freewrite from 2/18/12)
- Cells
- swallowing rocks will only weigh you down.
- Merciless
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▼
June
(23)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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