The hills here crumble
year after year
rain after drought
until they roll smooth
where they ran jagged
and the roads man builds
are covered in fine silt layers
crossed with makeshift riverbeds
nothing really shifts in the end, though
everything just builds upon
and builds upon again

I am finding small stones
in the earth after rain
to hide in places for you
all smooth agates
to remind you of sweet things

Everyday is like sunday
Everyday is silent and grey

Discuss.

Feet fall in quick succession, one after two after one after two. they aren't going anywhere important, but it's enough that they're going. The stones beneath them are old, holding quiet court until thrown aside by dogs and squirrels and whatever is kicking them around at the moment. Some of them have been nestled quietly in the dirt since the last ( Read more... )

I am surrounded by the quiet reserved for people waking up alone. My body is aching from bruises and bleeding places and tight, knotted muscles  that I can't find excuses for. Now that it's over, now that I'm back here holed up in my nest I don't see why  I was upset by the whole idea. It's not like it's ugly here, that I'm locked away in an ( Read more... )

I think he's made me fall out of love with rock and roll. The thrill of discovery isn't any fun when it's territory previously conquered ( Read more... )