A sweet story about our sweet boy. The year that endless sorrow reigned, and God seemed to be incredibly far away, and Satan seemed to roam on an incredibly long leash. THAT year- lived out in this town we will soon leave. The year we will never get back. The year that looms dark and ugly and so impossibly long, and I desperately want it back in a different and brighter version of our story. But we are leaving anyways. Want to drive by all.

My Philosophy on Sundry Things. Thursday, August 6, 2015. Which all these pictures are from.

The Phantom of the Opera. To shave head to toe. To slice the hair from my head. Letting it fall to the floor. To watch the heaviness leave. To watch my skin become free. Of what i think about you. What i think about what you want. What you wanted for me.

News, information, and poems archived for the public reader. Tuesday, January 10, 2017. A poem for days with Wicked Winds. Found in a greyish-brown slush drift piled high on the side of a street. When the Wicked Winds of Winter. Come slashing down the street,. The wild wails of panic, the drums of progress too,. Will only the get the smallest steps from my heavy leather shoes. To hear you voice, to see the beckon in your eyes-.

A collage of commentaries, reviews, rants, and entries. Middot; Leave a comment. Happy New Year 2017! .