End of the Jest
Sunday night is an imposter, The kind that writers wearing bandanas foster. Taking notes on how the sugary sweet sodas he sips , Is ......
6 Years Ago
Reaching/Leaving
The day before you came/left, Of appropriate words,I was bereft. I saw you pack, words that were had, Into suitcases of clothes and ......
6 Years Ago
The Sunday Poet
When the weight of the world is fleetingly off my shoulder, I let ink drip from my head onto paper. The Pernicious Poet mocks me abo......
7 Years Ago
Sessions
Hello again it's you and me, coffee for you and words for me. Fresh paint on my walls and a thousand stories, Of ups and downs and flail......
7 Years Ago
Where are you, Vincent?
If Van Gogh were alive today, He wold sell socks on the pavement. We would steal his paints and replace them with a begging bowl. We wou......
7 Years Ago
#Colourblind
I want to write poems in fountain pen ink, -Hazy purple, on yellowed pages, On the back of a novel, unopened for ages. But I can't make ......
8 Years Ago
