Originally posted on Elan Mudrow. Its linear line, moving with. There are other voices here. And plays with the oil. Stories cities, maps, the membranes. Of the lay out to thought. The horizon burns, it must. On top of one another. They are not static, all is noise. Experience, a lose few chapters.

When my feet are on the ground.

If you just had some idea. Here comes the goodbye look.

Straightforward Poems for Straightforward People. A poem about the artmore hotel. I could never love a woman who does not write poems.

When I got into writing, it was mainly just a sex thing. When I got into writing, it was mainly just a sex thing. When I got into writing it was mainly just a sex thing. Because guys who knew how to string together a poem got me wet between the legs. There are some terrible truthseveryone has to face.

You know, I know. The devil shaking in my legs knows. White stripes in the wood. I used to think church. Was the place to feel the spirit. When my spirit was light, but. As I got older, my spirit. Looked to clinging, to hover. In the fringes of the bowels. Of the dark and desperate. Hells we call out nature. Tonight, Hell is on. Hell is a court with the.

Blogging for the well-read and ill-at-ease. Coming Soon, My Blog! Ninety Four Two Forty Nine. A World in Her Own Words. C ities of Tiny Lights. A Small Circle of Friends. Welcome to A Small Circle of Friends. A blogging group for the well-read and the ill-at-ease.

A place for my silly poems, etc. The world is a sunset. Is the mist, rising. I feel love is numbered. Who is there for me? I look at you, thought. Put tomorrow out of your mind. You look like the kind of guy. When she was still fresh and pretty.

com site in all the land! Skip to primary content. The Landscape Of A Head. I fell in love with the colours in his head. His mind was a walk among a forest of kaleidoscopes. Every shade and pattern altered into wonderful, intricate landscapes with each thought he opened up and shared. It was like standing below stained glass as the sun rose, being bathed in arcs of emotional rainbows. And I lost the brilliance of him, the suddenness of .

And in those dayswhen we would wander in the woods,your hand would findmy secret places.