Dried
and pressed
into the pages
of a book
Dead
yet living
in remains
and memory
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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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▼
2019
(31)
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▼
January
(10)
- Sangre y Tierra
- Pressed
- Free Write 1/25/19
- winter morning touching my skin the warm spot in t...
- Staring into the bay from the tree at the edge of ...
- Snore
- Could we be the messiahs we need in our lives Coul...
- All this flesh So much meat and bone blood and sin...
- We must have hope We must believe in our capacity ...
- Children of Winter
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▼
January
(10)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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