The city breathes softly through open windows
as rubber runs fleetly over pavement
in the space between places.
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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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October
(64)
- The Heart Is a Resilient Machine.
- Emergency
- The Ocean In Between
- Honey, Oh.
- The Origins of Sand
- Look Out!
- Most Things
- A Rule of 6
- Restart
- Embrace
- Yeux comme des émeraudes
- How Hauntings Happen (or Letting Go Of The Ghost)
- WAR & PEACE
- What You Do With Advice
- Paths
- Eve
- A Laughing Nature
- the ones we loved
- Every Window Broken
- Pelvis + Criticism = ________
- We All
- Honey
- I can do a pretty good impression of myself.
- tied
- making clean
- movement
- Eternal Life
- On Love
- Before Anyone Else...
- Addition and Subtraction
- "Poetry Is Not A Project"
- Broken Windows
- The Dynamics of Power
- an exceeded outcome
- Cast Iron Heart
- Hole In The Attic
- FATE?
- Oh Night...
- Sentient
- A Musing On Music
- A Lesson On History
- Maybe
- Frail Strength
- Remember...
- A Pox of Lips.
- Halves of a Whole
- False starts for lonely hearts.
- It's True...
- A Quarter til 2 a.m.
- The Rain Reminded Me
- The Dark Side of the Dream.
- There is always sadness at the end of love.
- Lluvia
- All Under Heaven
- Continental Drift
- The good old days are long gone... what should w...
- Of Men & their Sons
- If you can steal their eyes you can steal their ...
- New Visions of the City
- Destroy The Narrative
- One Subject
- An Exampled Gleamed
- Weekend Morning
- Once again we've become the strangers we on...
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October
(64)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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