In one eye and out the other. Failing to either greet you. 8220;is it, is it real? Whenever it snows and surrounds. The curtains opened with the computer turned. On the surface, like bubbles in a lake. A syzygy of planets occurs. When we got into the spirit of it. A finger pointing, a heart beating.

Monday, August 15, 2011. Charles Grindley - Sailors and Cloth. Charles Grindley brings us this well composed poem. If you work from home, do the same. Saint Bartholomew playing with a razor. And no damn skin,. Toying with brown shiny wings,. Bending the day into a sort of pen,. Mixing paint in old silver socks and green baggies,. These are all roofs,. Powdered fast red coats of paint,.

The idea here is that I will post bits of personal literature and subject them to the harsh criticisms of the online community. That being said, I welcome any, preferably constructive, criticisms. After all, the finest wines are all made from stepped on grapes. So be cruel if need be; these are all living documents which I hope to make better with age. Wednesday, August 29, 2012. I rode up to your window. Then outside two stories down from you. Me down by the water.

Needing only a handshake and a signature on the contract to send it off into the world to make twenty-five billion dollars. The germ of the idea grows slowly. Thursday, June 4, 2015. I need to lie to you. Boiling my blood like a poison,. Clamoring to be drawn from a wound. Hand me a fistful of rainwater. And let me tell you about the ocean.

Well folks, sorry about that long break between posts. Alex packed his bags and we walked around, trying not .