here on the island as matthew lays dying his face it is turned now from jane she was his lover though he never touched her the distance was always too great wind overthrew him that now calms to sooth him carry the dust off away fissures and fractures and cracks in the plaster eroding and broken and pain
there was a creative writing society openmic event last night. Most people read poetry and prose, but a few brought guitars, and i gave it a go as well. i think it went quite well. when i came off stage i knocked over a stack of crates, rock and roll! (by accident)