as my eyes bleed, my veins ran to the river.
The huff of my lung was the crest of the bridge.
The soles of my feet were lost.
Fingerprints were naught but a memory.
Tears were my river, doubt was my oar, explain was the name of my canoe.
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There are no scholarly words to be found here. Merely the ramblings of a static mind are the order of any bored individual that stomach's the burden of going further.
About Me
- Patrick
- Currently in VA with my time in NY less and less, I find myself with the wanderlust taking hold
1 comment:
PS it is excellent to see how the psychic space for creativity opened up since you left. Missing too few late night conversations. Talk with weight, words that illuminated. Come visit, we miss you. xo B
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