Roads move us
from destination to destination
with minimal deviation.
We acclimate to ebbs
of time and traffic,
traveling by cocoon,
never emerging the butterfly-
we retain our larval form.
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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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July
(26)
- Pupa
- With No Tether
- Out There --->
- The Creation of - - - - -
- tu eres
- K /// NO /// W
- What It Means
- Vacation
- A bankrupt moral economy.
- She Looked Like Marilyn (Draft 1)
- The Condition
- If you leave me will you love me? ____ Foxhole C...
- The Lovely Lonely
- Eyes reflect inner light better than any mirror.
- Walking the 405
- concentration has begun to erode focus is fadin...
- Memory From A Late Night
- Kindness
- The Way Things Are
- When good Dogs die like Men.
- Bleeding
- Rice Rocket Racer
- National Holiday
- Celestial Bodies
- Acceptance
- dead end fragments
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▼
July
(26)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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