Recent Entries Garion born; thinking of doing video logs - 2012-09-01 I'm married, I'm a prospective father, wow I never update - 2012-05-22 Got the job at the NIA; mother complicates wedding plans - 2011-10-13 Scrawl - 2011-08-05 It's never been better - 2011-06-02
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Poem: 'bleak weather friend' 2005-11-12 - 1:45 a.m. 
Drunk on alone,Whisper wind by the window, On the floor, Bloodshot, Ticking-hand blinks. No idea, How I got here, Where there is, Who here is, Just am. I read like Mozart on paper, Apparently a reputation, I made, But my creation bred, In mouths like gold spit. In the end is a pathway, Just darkness up ahead, Sometimes some one beside me, Most times just me instead. There's a dust bunny requiem, Flowers were laid, So were drunk relatives, By the giant rug, Barking champagne. My bed is a portal, To carry me home, Back away to where I backed away, And came back again, To this place. If death is by a thousand cuts, Then a mile is a milestone, Our immortality rolling, On the soft cobblestones, Out to the misty moon. In the end is a highway, Just darkness up ahead, Sometimes they are beside me, Most times it's just the dead. And off I ride, To spread a message, Lost in the first few minutes, My footfalls drowning out the noise, Passing the time and places. Was there a point, A service, A solid, salient thing, That reached past the veil, Beyond transactions? It would seem, I lost and lose an army of love, Shedding as I burn this torch, To bring the light again, And turn away into the dark. So be it. In the end is my way, Just the forest up ahead, Gone with those orbs beside me, My torchlight left in stead. |
