The house collapses
like a punctured lung.
Wind scatters the remains.
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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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▼
May
(24)
- After The Run
- A Slew of Lines
- Hello[ ]Goodbye
- First & Last
- In Her Room
- Affection
- I want you to feel beautiful.
- Boundless Arrow
- creating belief
- You're too pretty to feel insecure.
- We have grown older but we haven't aged.
- Selling The Past For Profit
- Welcome to Summer
- Losing Everything
- When Present and Memory Disagree
- Night Skies
- More Than Human
- Every collapsed Utopia.
- Boa
- She Is Not Your Wife
- Birth
- Always Lost
- Write until your fingers bleed and then keep going.
- Uncertainty
-
▼
May
(24)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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