Love is dead in these christmas hours |
I'll pray again. Not because the white bearded father is listening, but because the persperation of my shaking hands feels quelled when folded into penitent oration. "Hear me." The sweat beaded across...
Posted by bryce on Thu, 28 Dec 2006 02:24:00 PST |
A Gentle Man |
The sun is rising in the cool air as I watch the last moments of thisAngola-Namibia place sail passed my tear-brimmed eyes.I've just finished.Just finished a lonely slumber by a river full of snakes a...
Posted by bryce on Wed, 13 Dec 2006 05:53:00 PST |
wild boars learn to sew |
to the land of lakes
palaces abound
some make not a sound
in their empty state
do not hesitate
for, make one wrong move
banished form the louvre
if caught with flower
quick! go take a shower
wash off ...
Posted by bryce on Tue, 01 Aug 2006 11:55:00 PST |
blue |
Did I ever tell you about the blue town called Johdpur. A region once called Marwar, land of death. Meherangarth's fort rises from the rocks to tower above the city. An intricate opp...
Posted by bryce on Tue, 01 Aug 2006 11:52:00 PST |
The process |
In the hours upon hours of our comraderie its become apparant that this tick-tock tick -tock tick-tock just isn't going to keep slicing throught the places of love, passion, and permanence, but s...
Posted by bryce on Tue, 01 Aug 2006 11:19:00 PST |
Distances |
Seemingly simple distances, a few hundred kilometers in this case, are actually days long journies in the slow paced places of Africa's east. At 10 am I hop into a minibus full of other trave...
Posted by bryce on Thu, 20 Jul 2006 12:19:00 PST |
