This poem is one of those for which I have very few words to describe. It is the sort of thing where either the reader will instantly understand it on a personal level, or have no idea what is going on. Of course, the majority of people will be the latter. And of course, they … Continue reading Moment
Woe be me. That’s always a good way to start a rant. Or even just another thought piece. What the absolute and dissolute hell is a thought piece? How incredibly elementary. It’s nothing more than a desperate attempt to make something that is purely emotional, intellectual. But that’s not possible. And so, it is a … Continue reading Woe Be Me
This poem I wrote but a few minutes ago. On the outside, I'm not entirely sure what it is getting at, but the answer is clear in my heart. So much rests on death. What happens in that moment and what happens after, if anything at all. How we live, how we think, why we cry... … Continue reading Finality
What makes someone a writer? Obviously, there is more to it then the ability to simply clearly or unclearly express something via the written word. According to that technical definition, anyone could and would, be writers. But I'm talking about Jack London, about Oscar Wilde, about Hank Moody. The last one may be fictional, or … Continue reading What Makes One A Writer?
This poem I wrote on my last road trip, a trip which took me from Virginia to California and back again. It is an attempt to encompass many things including: the futility of materialism, the power of a simplistic and minimalistic lifestyle, the strangeness one encounters in life, and the finality of human mortality. Whether … Continue reading A Night of Pain