Stopped over and over again!
Life has hurled me to break more than once.
The enchanted misery is the pain
That darts my excruciation in this paradisiacal island.
One April night, Earth's cloudy, coal-black screen / Tore with a bellow, lashing all the streets / With myriad malformed spherules full of sheen / And coating them like chalk-white, lengthy sheets…
Despite being an old dog, he never seemed to tire of the winter. The more snow, the better. Bobalou’s celebration of each inaugural snowfall taught me to welcome the winter, to appreciate it as a season of renewal, to breathe in that cold, familiar midwestern chill as if it were a regenerative elixir.
I’ve unplugged from dark matter…every breath is a protest thing…I still care about people. Trying to fall asleep, I wonder about the sincerity of those who wear their spots on their clothes and not their skins.