Cut my skin and flesh,
crack my ribs,
spread them apart
and let my heart
beat feel
the touch of air.
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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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▼
2013
(348)
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▼
November
(27)
- Prophets before the people.
- Thanks / To Give
- Remembering and forgetting never seem to be too fa...
- Don't Write Back
- Making Sense
- Present Hauntings
- I needed to empty myself before I could begin fil...
- The Heart of the Matter
- I, the River
- to wake
- your veiled visage fragments of my memory water ...
- I am not interested in the ephemeral, only what e...
- Planned Obsolescence
- Newtech
- Voyager
- Missing Reels
- At Any Cost
- Faces age everywhere but in memory.
- Bodies of Water (Draft 2)
- Don't let words sell experience short of the inten...
- Don't reinforce your weaknesses.
- Natural Vulgarity
- Making Mistakes With Every Step
- Free Write 11/2/13
- Imaginary Real Estate
- What It Is
- what doesn't matter
-
▼
November
(27)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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