Her pretty face sings
for the voyeur eye.
Hips move like
the birth of lust.
She mouths
I got troubles
but they won't last.
They never do.
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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)
-
▼
December
(32)
- Incomplete Summation
- Accidental Obituary
- Finding The Root
- The Old Newness
- From Dirt
- Sleep
- To Be Humbled
- Other Windows
- How History Ages
- Gentle Grip
- What We Carry
- A Love Poem
- Instant Amnesiac
- I DON'T WANT TO BE LIKE ANY OF MY HEROES
- My Halloween Year.
- g_ps
- unbending branch- even you must give to tempest ...
- On Loss
- My Thoughts Pile Up When I'm Tired And Need To Get...
- Idyllic
- Be unafraid in ridding yourself of useless clutter...
- Everything Breaking Down (Draft 3)
- Broken Pretty Things
- Full Tilt
- Ending the Sentence
- Future Past Lives
- Ms. Kacie
- Don't wake me from my warm cocoon.
- Only For You
- H.B.
- Tongue
- The Two of Us
-
▼
December
(32)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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