every time mind tumbling down to tomorrow
sifting the trembling talus in the shadow
the weeping wind in the valley
slope too steep then to ascend to the moment
all that’s left having fallen is to fall asleep
Scattershot poetry, prose, art, and assorted creative ammunition. A celebration of desire, language, and the revel of life through craft and frequent writing practice.
I checked my blog's numbers after my last post. My readership seemed to be exploding, but considering the volume was all from Singapore,...
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