So full of half-filled shapes
Fit to bursting with inchoate
Longing for a moon
That is no moon
Just a harbour-thin reflection
On a rippled dinner plate
I could
Sew these ragged dreams to riches
But such half-spun mists
Hang much too soft
To carry all my future-weight.
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Fatherhood
I am carrying the torch you Handed me Not handed. Placed Carefully This is sacred space. Was the carrying so heavy for you as well? Were yo...
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It must have been love That sort of thing Can't be mistaken For a lesser set of feelings It has a special hat And makes you welcome at p...
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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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I’m tired I’m tired of my heart giving out Whenever it gives in That things being the same Never makes a difference Of looking forwards to s...
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