A line in the sand that bears your footprint.
A fork in the road that's two ways to wrong.
A framed photo of an absent guest.
Speech-notes that never leave your pocket.
A drowning swimmer in a dried up sea.
A ghosting fox in a forest of rustling thoughts.
Sheets still tangled in last night's sleep
The seep of water between slippery fingers.
The stuck hands of a stopped clock.
The monster wearing in your worn reflection.
The hand that leads down tree-lit streets when the night aches too brightly to put on companied stillness.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
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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