My mind is a cluttered museum
covered in dust.
My heart is a machine that beats
in and out of time.
My hands grasp that which cannot
be eternally held.
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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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September
(24)
- Dirt & Water / Water & Sky
- Lost Worlds
- Tough Kids
- My mind is a cluttered museum covered in dust. My...
- When a secret expands it can never contract.
- What Is There
- Truth is a beauty unto itself.
- Winter Come
- When It Is Late and I Cannot Sleep
- The Recovery
- Narrative Voice
- The Student
- smart-ass
- All Night
- Rubbing the Night From Your Eyes
- I am not as alone as I could be and for that I am ...
- To Leave
- Narrating A Moment
- The Future
- Night is a creature that cannot sleep.
- frag
- For Fresa
- finding now
- this late summer
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▼
September
(24)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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