Day 248
magic the morning has an edge of the ill-defined about it. last night’s rain has evaporated into imagination and loss, the lightning an illusion of the dark, a lie of… Continue Reading
Richard Pierce – author, poet, painter
magic the morning has an edge of the ill-defined about it. last night’s rain has evaporated into imagination and loss, the lightning an illusion of the dark, a lie of… Continue Reading
the shepherd they live on the hills a gasp away from the house; singular single androgynous indeterminate shimmering fading in and out of the green, made of air and fire… Continue Reading
the woman the woman grieves for the man asleep in the chair, grieves for her part in his descent, how he has pushed her to the margins of his existence,… Continue Reading
the man the man is tired, sick and tired of the world not turning the way he wants it to, his faith in the spirits ebbing, exhausted by too many… Continue Reading
the animals the animals smell it, scent it, and it makes them contradictory, running away one moment and coming close the next, lying by the olding man, so close they… Continue Reading
At ten to midnight last night, I finally punched holes in all the printouts of this blog and put them into the lever arch folder M got for me a… Continue Reading
This is the poem I wrote yesterday. It’s for everyone who’s contemplating getting married, for those getting married, for those already married. For those of any faith, for those of… Continue Reading
It’s dark in the office. Late afternoon. The ceiling light isn’t on, just the angle-poise above my desk. The sun is already dipping below the houses in the street, and… Continue Reading
I made a big mistake yesterday for which I beg forgiveness. I did something I tell people never to do. I didn’t listen. I got some feedback on yesterday’s scribbled… Continue Reading
PAST the past can not be undone not by dictators nor tyrants nor the historians of empires who may rewrite history nor failing memory the past is a fact it… Continue Reading