This Love we chose suspends ticks and tocks between cuckoo crows
The Air Around Your Lungs
And who says you must wait until time's nearly up to learn how to scream//to learn how to breathe//or to learn how to notice the air around your lungs
A Most Inopportune Time
My muse often visits me at most inconvenient times With two crows making love on a lamppost When one flies into the city to tell Johnny Something of an urgent manner "Finish up your delivery, and we shall move on with our lives" Warm pizza left in front of an apartment Running from the knocks on the... Continue Reading →
The Art of Being
All I can say is, much like this post, I didn't know how it all started, where it went, and I pray it never concludes. All I knew was that I simply was in that moment, and the precise art of being is one to always be sought but never mastered.
Bottled Fortune
Scribbled, childish writing on the paper more profound than you grew to be
5-Second Love Note
You could ruin my life And that would be just fine Because I would rather die with you by my side Than ask "what if?" in the afterlife
Ruminations of a Working Man, Pt. VIII: What Sense is There
Moment by moment You next chapter is in progress And as much as you won't like to hear this The words are scrolling past you With every tick of the clock's second hand With ev'ry unfurling of rose pedals Should you meet a wizard It would be well worth the second to make a note... Continue Reading →
A Second’s Inspiration
Flipping each sheet one by one, he noticed a sparkle from the page he had been working on, which now appeared to be gilded on the edge as well. His eyes widened as he revealed the page, which appeared to be covered in oil-slick except for an outline where his hand and pen had been, which was now a silhouette of plain, off-white paper with a dot of smudged black where the ink had dripped. It bled into the slick and swirled into a mesmerizing, spiraling pattern. He dabbed the page with the paper towel he had been using to clean off his pen to see if the page was wet, but even after smearing and rubbing for a few seconds, the page seemed to be dry as a piece of plain paper could be.
Time Beleaguered
Dusk threatens with tendrils of gold To put me to sleep in the loveliest fold "Just up the stream" by a nymph, I'm told Is where I can run and never grow old But the decaying smell of moss and mold Lies just behind and bites like bitter cold Now I've gone too far, this life I've... Continue Reading →
December Rose 