downer. |
It read "Here Lies live dirt interred the moistened ash of beast and bird"for once it's shackles left to slake sold, slain-impaled upon it stakefor no more heartbeat, no more lies of one who danced be...
Posted by on Thu, 11 Dec 2008 08:17:00 GMT |
Something for the romantics. |
He was one of those unevenly talented musicians who had attained notoriety with disgusting punk rock, the kind that screams about the ugliness of the world while longing to write a pretty song for a p...
Posted by on Sun, 07 Dec 2008 16:10:00 GMT |
Nonfiction (to be continued) |
1. The 'curtain' was penetrated by the afternoon's light. A square of cheap fabric, frayed at the edges by dull scissors and clumbsy hards, dark green, tacked across the window by pushpins that...
Posted by on Mon, 05 May 2008 19:25:00 GMT |
Dumb and Crazy. |
She was impossible. Another klutz she was, one of those spill-prone folks who had the luck to be also a neat freak. She smelled too. Really. The girl could stink ...
Posted by on Thu, 24 Apr 2008 23:19:00 GMT |
Flowers from the kitchen floor. |
Rock bottom ain't low enough, because when you're on your back, ya always looking up. Eyes peeled for what's real, sensors ready for something to feel. unsure about the score, damn unsure what I've go...
Posted by on Thu, 13 Dec 2007 15:24:00 GMT |
I was fool enough once to think myself a poet. |
Indulging in a tome of hellone finds mirrors on one's feet.Come swallow sweet drunken caramels, aged just enough to blur the day.Lemon drinks now come in pink and aluminum.and even menstration won't k...
Posted by on Wed, 15 Nov 2006 03:24:00 GMT |
Ghost Boy, Ghost Dog |
This a song I wrote about walking my dog. The two of us are killed, hit by a drunk driver. Sweetly enough, we expired with a hug. Now we're ghosts, and other people only acknowledge our pre...
Posted by on Fri, 16 Jun 2006 12:02:00 GMT |
Eternity's Children hate Destiny's Child |
Beyond the cosmic spirals where comets dare not fly where are you, they called out as they danced among the sky From moon to moon her footsteps left faces in the sand She'd puncture light in blackest ...
Posted by on Mon, 13 Mar 2006 02:35:00 GMT |
falling asleep |
A quiet, blue night. A lining of chilled skin sorrounding each of twelve toes. Nearing the end of a literary journey. Stopping, to save the last pages for a fresh, thoughtful brain. Songs destined for...
Posted by on Thu, 16 Feb 2006 14:41:00 GMT |
20 years.. |
It is not often that one has the opportunity to experience something like my surprise party. In fact, the kind of love that I felt, and the gathering of friends from all over was someth...
Posted by on Mon, 09 Jan 2006 10:02:00 GMT |
