cepa andaluza
I know that she is writing me all of the time, in sky and cloud, in cat and owl. She is leaving every track allowed. I know that she is nearing close, headlines and poor jokes, the trembling nethers of the very earth below. Each shadow cast a kiss I just had missed, proof that I should begin the search for truth. Each...
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I know that she is writing me all of the time, in sky and cloud, in cat and owl. She is leaving every track allowed. I know that she is nearing close, headlines and poor jokes, the trembling nethers of the very earth below. Each shadow cast a kiss I just had missed, proof that I should begin the search for truth. Each...
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VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
xxxholic:
Indeed. You can't help but read the shirt when the words are stretched across a pair of D's. 
xxxholic:
This is true..... but I am going to try. These people aren't worth my time.
calling
Smoke curls away, some dismal signal, some coveted fire abides. Gray skies and the dance of flecks of ash. Fingertips stained, skin cracked by hot embers and cold dry wind, the vague painted on look of concentration cast towards the earth or air. Dogs shuffle and paw at the damp ground, the weather turning cold again as the day dwindles into cinders and afterthoughts....
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Smoke curls away, some dismal signal, some coveted fire abides. Gray skies and the dance of flecks of ash. Fingertips stained, skin cracked by hot embers and cold dry wind, the vague painted on look of concentration cast towards the earth or air. Dogs shuffle and paw at the damp ground, the weather turning cold again as the day dwindles into cinders and afterthoughts....
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xxxholic:
"My calling is only the sorting of the shambles, the discovery of what it takes a thing to break" I definitely associate myself with that line. 
irreverence
The sky did its part, bleeding out gray and beaded water across the dampened map. Rain tangled with leaf and bough, spattering the pavement and slicking back all manner of boundless green. The hours just steam away, lapped up by the ravening wind, poured into the clay bidden earth. The storm leavens whatever's left of the afternoon, soaking each entreatment, drowning ever prayer. I...
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The sky did its part, bleeding out gray and beaded water across the dampened map. Rain tangled with leaf and bough, spattering the pavement and slicking back all manner of boundless green. The hours just steam away, lapped up by the ravening wind, poured into the clay bidden earth. The storm leavens whatever's left of the afternoon, soaking each entreatment, drowning ever prayer. I...
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xxxholic:
More, Please!
renunciation
I've given up on starlight-- it mostly takes its own sweet time to arrive, hiding somewhere in the depths of time. I've given up on wishes spent and hopes deferred. It has been a week since I shook off what gainful employment I had and ventured into the landscape of these residual outcomes and epic fails. Some battlefield shed of anything but the aftermath....
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I've given up on starlight-- it mostly takes its own sweet time to arrive, hiding somewhere in the depths of time. I've given up on wishes spent and hopes deferred. It has been a week since I shook off what gainful employment I had and ventured into the landscape of these residual outcomes and epic fails. Some battlefield shed of anything but the aftermath....
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xxxholic:
I'll be there, too.
xxxholic:
Thank you!
promised
It is all downhill from here, the gutter gathers it dues. Not the stars supposed from that poet's vantage, not the abyss warned of by some old-time biblehand. Just the ease of water finding out. Just the drift of layer upon layer of ash and shit and dust. Too early or too late-- I never remember which one or the other. It is only...
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It is all downhill from here, the gutter gathers it dues. Not the stars supposed from that poet's vantage, not the abyss warned of by some old-time biblehand. Just the ease of water finding out. Just the drift of layer upon layer of ash and shit and dust. Too early or too late-- I never remember which one or the other. It is only...
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xxxholic:
I always want to say something, but my words never seem worthy.
ache and ease
Is it the wind again, is it the spattering rain? Is it the gray tresses of another midnight storm, is it the shape of the crawling dawn? The weather is always tapping on the windows. The weather is always trampling down the roof. I do not know what it was that woke me. I do not even know that I was really...
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Is it the wind again, is it the spattering rain? Is it the gray tresses of another midnight storm, is it the shape of the crawling dawn? The weather is always tapping on the windows. The weather is always trampling down the roof. I do not know what it was that woke me. I do not even know that I was really...
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xxxholic:
Why thank you!
punta umbria
The frogs sounded out in the schoolyard for the first time in many year last night. I was out on the back porch, lurking in shadow and smoke. Rats scrabbled from the roof to the scrub pine that leans dangerously over the house, scampering and scratching in the night. The rain had let up for a few hours, and that calm that is...
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The frogs sounded out in the schoolyard for the first time in many year last night. I was out on the back porch, lurking in shadow and smoke. Rats scrabbled from the roof to the scrub pine that leans dangerously over the house, scampering and scratching in the night. The rain had let up for a few hours, and that calm that is...
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xxxholic:
Lovely!
glitch:
Beautiful words. Thank u.
action
The gray rolling sky sheds rivers of mirrors upon the rough commitment of the pavement. Small slate reflections of this world so loved by light. Flecks of ash levitate, boundlessly free of flame and breath. Before me the parsed poetry of weather unencumbered by doubt or faith. The silly trickling of the mind as it tries so vainly to ply its trade. The rain...
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The gray rolling sky sheds rivers of mirrors upon the rough commitment of the pavement. Small slate reflections of this world so loved by light. Flecks of ash levitate, boundlessly free of flame and breath. Before me the parsed poetry of weather unencumbered by doubt or faith. The silly trickling of the mind as it tries so vainly to ply its trade. The rain...
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toil
Days of rain and soon so much water conspires with all manner of remembering. Languid nights and brutal wanderings, from warm embrace to bone chilling lonesome, every feeling is loosed amid all this green and gray and ways lost. Those electric first kisses that feel so distant the may as well be myths, stories told about how the world was born so familiar, so...
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Days of rain and soon so much water conspires with all manner of remembering. Languid nights and brutal wanderings, from warm embrace to bone chilling lonesome, every feeling is loosed amid all this green and gray and ways lost. Those electric first kisses that feel so distant the may as well be myths, stories told about how the world was born so familiar, so...
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xxxholic:
I'm speechless.
vertebrae
It is first that tension, the beads on a string, the spattering of prayers. The seeds of that moment, the baseline dripping along this old song. How like a love letter, how like pure rebuke, this constant discovery of the betrayal of self. You know yourself, that truth that feels like fable, you the punch-line for this aged joke. When the inevitable happens, you...
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It is first that tension, the beads on a string, the spattering of prayers. The seeds of that moment, the baseline dripping along this old song. How like a love letter, how like pure rebuke, this constant discovery of the betrayal of self. You know yourself, that truth that feels like fable, you the punch-line for this aged joke. When the inevitable happens, you...
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the unmade bed
You hang around one place long enough, you ought to see something new. So I train my eyes on the shadows on the ceiling, on the wavering of the light. So I watch the corners gathering ends and grime. I keep an eye open when I can. There is no telling all the things I missed. There is no counting all the...
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You hang around one place long enough, you ought to see something new. So I train my eyes on the shadows on the ceiling, on the wavering of the light. So I watch the corners gathering ends and grime. I keep an eye open when I can. There is no telling all the things I missed. There is no counting all the...
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the answer
It is what it is. You wake in darkness, forever short on sleep. The alarm clock and the coffee maker have their say, and you stumble on. Nothing before you but another broken day, nothing to long for save the next too short night of sleep. Your reasons are simple, as far as reasons go. Life abides all manner of insults and demotions,...
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It is what it is. You wake in darkness, forever short on sleep. The alarm clock and the coffee maker have their say, and you stumble on. Nothing before you but another broken day, nothing to long for save the next too short night of sleep. Your reasons are simple, as far as reasons go. Life abides all manner of insults and demotions,...
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xxxholic:
You're observation was sheer poetry that really spoke to me.