It’s raining where I work today But I’ll show up and earn my pay Or try to: try to prove my worth As though each day was a new birth But through this pane of glass I see The wild world in front of me And hear the booming thunder roll All things beyond my … Continue reading "Raining It In"
The paint begins to peel Our stories start to fade Our colors start to dim Our fabrics degrade But that can never mean Though time be overriding That paintings aren’t worth paint A battles aren’t Worth Fighting
She grew up in the perfect home, And learned their perfect ways Of flawlessness in imagery Through golden-colored days. And people think she has it still, In life, and mien, and dress — So why is it that she’s so filled With perfect Emptiness?
The purpose of this blog, restated.
Just to the left.