Carving through the hills that hang
Brown and pregnant with the frost
A silver spoon with dirt stained hands
Rests easy on the porcelain curves
Not enough mouthfulls to go.
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
How do I lose myself?
I am not easily misplaced Or forgotten, Arriving as I do Before even the curtains draw And that first morning jug boils, Bleary, yes Grudgin...
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She shares the blame For Adam's fall So secure, attractive Brilliant in a certain view The essence of Enlightenment I see her raise her ...
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Final Thoughts From an AGM You want to mess with me? I can take you down a notch Spill the beans I’ll spill your blood Tooth for tooth, splo...
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Standing on a Hillside Sometimes you look back on where you have been Past the cloud-fluffy daffodils bobbing and green Through the deep dar...
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