An ordinary revelation

New Writeups

Tall Thing runs	B.F. Skinner	complicitous	A misplaced sense of guilt from long ago
free spirit	a kind of pulling away	June 11, 2008	This broken jaw of our lost homes
December 31, 2005	Music is our religion	Can you reach true love? Let's say yes.	entropy
When poets scream	In which the mountains are old and I am the ghost on the battlements	Wash the grief away	The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead channel
The mountain abides beneath deep snow	Beautiful, in that way that space and any measure of emptiness is beautiful	His mournful lamenting, like smoke on the mountains	Homecoming
Growing up	rational	Sol

Login
Password