an old woman breathes with her hands ( Read more... )

Walking through the streets at night has become its own sort of ritual, meditating on the blurred reds and greens, stops and gos that mediate these roads: blood vessels pumping asphalt and energy into a city that heaves like the ocean.

So, I want to start writing full-force yet again. To begin doing so, I'm going to find and post all of the poems I'd like to revise or that I'm basically ok with at this point. I know that not many people use lj anymore, so this is just me writing to no one and just having a place to be creative. I love creativity! In fact, I value my Writing ( Read more... )

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Hanging unconscious in shower water, half bathed and lingering like an artifact poking from the ocean: stonework still burnt from the Greek gods' revolt.

Dead FishThe round, bearded man with smudged body ( Read more... )

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A year ago I wrote every day, sometimes twice a day.

At this point in time it seems I've nothing to write about. I'm not sad. I'm not really afraid of anything that's not trivial (ie spiders ( Read more... )