It becomes more of a hunger. You listen Close to silence,. Hold close the sound of. Memory is a gritty irritant. Exchanging Babies in Parking Lots.

The spleen I have against St. Was a horny bastard, a fiddler and drinker. Auctioneer who was booted off. The farm when my granddad was born. David eventually came back to atone,. He burnt his fiddle in a field and sired.

The Uncertainty of the Us. Looking at the sky, the trees.

Mind wanders into the hollow escapades of the past. As words stumble, crumble, splattering in figments onto the parchment. Scattered, scrambling together to form a coherent set of lines. Freeze paned, lead hovers ready to cross, scratch out. Pink embraces paper as the words scream out before they vanish, like they never lived. A sense of calm fills the air as gray slowly dances across the white horizon. Mdash; Leave a comment.

Poetry, writings, photos, and more. On October 19, 2010 by dustus. The One That Got Away. On July 16, 2011 by dustus. I loved her, honest. Warm shoulder, face, soft eyes. Mostly imagined, as well as initial. Rats make for a stupid hat. Benighted cotton balls, human. No airline cruising bag of nuts. Nor fearing yawlps from elephants.

Immersed in all that is you. All your being sways in sweet harmony. Your world is enormous, ever-growing,. And sprinkled with fears,. And I long to walk beside you. Enchanted spirits dance at my door. And out of my heart.

Tuesday, March 27, 2018. We are all just slaves. We are all just slaves,. Slaves to our fathers, our lovers, to society,. Slaves to rules not ours to own. But nonetheless accepted, without resistance or question. We are enslaved by our routines, our jobs, laws, thieves,. We are locked behind high walls and separation,.