All of writing is a lie.
That is a lie.
That is a lie.
That is a lie.
That is true.

The poles stand like sentries over the cold ( Read more... )

I don't know everything,
But, I know enough,
To know that.

He's bringing an air conditioner ( Read more... )

When he was young, he had a team ( Read more... )

there is a tatter ed book behind
the oak dresser. often times:
when
the autumn wind
blows-> the book seems
here. manilla pages cry
crying insistantly,
the cadence of a ltitile known fact,
you've lonnnnggg forgotten? fly-ing out
the win-dow, the smell of the de-comp-osing
leaves... the end.

a clever lie ( Read more... )

He steps outside and can smell the cold
The maple is burning crimson
He wishes he could read music

i've never read so much work in my life
my brain just forgot what a parabola is

we sailed on a dream ( Read more... )