The Little Deaths · Once these deaths Did not feel little, But more Like explosions Unpredictable And fickle Fires in the Night of summer Fading quickly To a memory Of what it craves Never finding ground Before it passes Still thirsting Wanting more. · Now it holds me Like the ocean Floating in Arms …
"In order to rise from the ashes, the Phoenix must first burn." -Octavia Butler
Still figuring things out.
Cornfed and Confused: Thoughts from a Queer Southerner.
material
a journal of creative endeavors, acknowledgements, and awakenings
Surviving and savoring parenthood one day at a time
slow time and the soft infinity
A look at the looks
of organic poems, multifarious prose, rambunctious ramblings, and queer dreams
personal reflections, meditations, and dreams
a sometimes intrepid exploration of a virtual world
mostly poetry, partly peculiar.
Goodies from my mailbox and camera
An Empyrean Cycle
Poets Pub
The greatest Mormon blog in the universe.
The Personal is Empirical
Lucidly in shadows. Poetry from a hand that writes misty.
...in which I attempt to write in an amusing fashion, look at shiny things both past and present, and not lose it. Again.
