Blue Concrete |
I wrote these at a different time, in a different place...
It is these moments that bring us joy above all others. Mornings when the moon is still in the sky and...
Posted by on Sun, 04 Jan 2009 08:57:00 GMT |
Now and Now |
I dream in silence these days, with my eyes open. I don't think about the past much, it overcomes me in a way Idon't understand quite yet.
In this land of minorities where no one speaks the samelang...
Posted by on Sun, 04 Jan 2009 07:00:00 GMT |
Bed of change |
She lays comatose in her death bed, the very same bed she made that morning. Staring at the widespread static on the television screen, wondering ho...
Posted by on Tue, 30 Sep 2008 15:14:00 GMT |
Tag, youre it. |
Em, I have left everything I ever knew and everyone I ever loved behind, and to be honest there hasn't been a moment that has gone by that I wasn't scare shitless and uncertain about absolutely every...
Posted by on Wed, 17 Sep 2008 19:34:00 GMT |
The tilt of the earth |
In a way it was fitting, the way it all ended. Much like the tilt of the earth or the calmness of the trees before a storm, it was fitting. A natural happenstance, but...
Posted by on Tue, 02 Sep 2008 18:26:00 GMT |
The passing of summer’s evenings |
The light filtered melancholy through the closed blinds; it was a beautiful shade of gold painting itself against the stark white of the new apartment. A bike sat idly ...
Posted by on Mon, 01 Sep 2008 01:41:00 GMT |
A list of things to pack |
Nervously she packed, although she knew it was no use, inevitably she would forget the most important thing. She was constantly anticipating every detail that could go ...
Posted by on Mon, 01 Sep 2008 01:38:00 GMT |
The most beautiful girl |
[This was written for some friends who don't see how beautiful they are because of what has happened that makes them feel so ugly on the inside.]
She was the most beauti...
Posted by on Sun, 31 Aug 2008 02:26:00 GMT |
On the bookshelves |
She had spent many of those first years living in the suspiciously large library of thehouse her mother left her. For days on end she would esc...
Posted by on Sun, 31 Aug 2008 02:25:00 GMT |
Learning to hold hot things |
Times of loss are often times of reflection, and desperation. The need for something moreis so frequent, the feelings of emptiness are all that is plentiful in these times.
I picture a small hand gr...
Posted by on Mon, 25 Aug 2008 23:02:00 GMT |
