Jane, Jane, Jane..."Hey Jane. Nice parka."
"Glad to drop by", she hollers. Excuse her, she's a girl.
"It's 30 out there," I holler back. We hug, we let go.
And we both holler, "Really, well I don't feel it at all."
Newest
the forever verseYesterday,the forever verse
remembers and knows. We, today
together and apart in hunched lashings of cross misery. On the steps of ages, we follow and we fall bound to the
perpetual drive of the tomorrow.
by ~ogma
the little songOpenness of a glorious morning greets and shakes the hand of sunlight shine and waves off passing sorrows. The time’s spotlight for a little singingthe little song
when too much has gone and fallen to the mountains.
From there, the rain’s retreat, fire burns the tune to the happiness decided, in the desert and the storm. Hum off the scraped knee
of the proposal and rejection committee.
They order the epilogue: “Play the happy ever after.” Quiet ears listen to this rustle; the theme to the budding of the rotten. Flower for a crowd of weary; &
by ~ogma
There's a devil at my gate.Dancing down the weary streets,There's a devil at my gate.
my veins, the land are blue. Arresting ironed suits to steel lawns, the touch of green and greed to fill. Make me an appointment, to-day for tomorrow not this second, to late but four quarters for eternity.
Nice and grasp this casualty; nothing’s skin of bones will freeze
but nothing lets flaming happy hearts to thaw.
Then the cry, not mother, baby, or the hollow sob, you are young, blind, and not so free.
He, the man, Jack of trades, his tears are spent… robbed, to pay interest, multiply the thrall.
Ever water eyes are wasted
by ~ogma
funeralWhat is the word that men will wear? The guise he takes, the love dissembled When will May cease to carry his lover’s whim? And how does the blossom failfuneral
to please his heart beguiled.
And his longing love, her name is lily.
The airways are mounted by lettered stallions. The water, stripped of sin. And, the soil beneath his feet; rank of yesterday’s sorry files.
The city charred and
so open fire.
And the tear-out wallpaper, it sat and won.
The cool breath of November creeps into September. The glow in fury and then the st
by ~ogma
Favourites
"Graduate"It’s raining, only this time the rain is inside, not out. The sea foams and breath is spent, waiting Stopping, pausing, unflinching, for what? The statues of those gone before are carved out of rock, stone, ivory, and alabaster, And there, they sit on the edge of the dock, unmoving, through the absence of silence."Graduate"
It’s pouring again, the sand is soaked to fine grit. The stars are glimmering beyond the ominous gray clouds. Footsteps, your feet have left in the sand, where do you go now? Now that you’ve finished, where do you begin? Behind the finish line or in front? Will you w
by ~fuzzynumbskull
North Is Out Your WindowI bought a compass the other day to point which way I should go. Down below, where the spirits hold hands and market research meetingsNorth Is Out Your Window
There is a man who laughs at the vanity with his blond bimbo They Laugh and Jeer and Stomp and Shout Out, declaring life so fleeting. The two will often point past and tell me: “North is out your window!”
I traveled over mountains so high I almost thought I could grow. The rocks were tripping me up and the trees swayed gently by my ear Green and Grey the two mixed to form the ground, the pathway which I know They reminded me how brutal it can be sometime
by ~product342
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--
Enigma. Temptress. Technology. These forms define my writing.
--
"My mother said to me, "If you become a soldier, you'll be a general; if you become a monk, you'll end up as the Pope." Instead, I became a painter and wound up as Picasso."
Pablo Picasso
--
Enigma. Temptress. Technology. These forms define my writing.
-amy
--
If a mime falls in the forest, does anybody care?
--
On and on and on it goes,
The world it just keeps spinning.
Until I'm dizzy, time to breathe,
So close my eyes and start again, anew.
- Willy Mason
*drools* blahariedaldkfjaldjfaka
is all I have to say
I mean thank you
I mean alkdjfadujakldjfd
sorry, two mistakes in a row
--
"My mother said to me, "If you become a soldier, you'll be a general; if you become a monk, you'll end up as the Pope." Instead, I became a painter and wound up as Picasso."
Pablo Picasso
Keydah
--
Truth in Masquerade
--
There is nothing like a cookie.
Cooooo-kie.
Feed a starving Student - Commission me! (More details see [link])
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