2009-08-10T09:21:00.000-07:00

the old grows old,

so it is said,

and often practiced,

like right left rights,

with turns and footsteps,

it comes and goes.

i lift.

i pull,

no weight like the stiff kind.

no stillness like the cold,

hand over hand,

from back to front.

keep the weak in the middle,

and the left bearers on the right.

and keep the high hole,

deep,

and dry.

and stone bearers

gray.

painful hearts nostalgic,

with old memories,

and false stories,

and a heavy shoulder shovel.

come blister,

come splinter,

come rotten wood stench.

and the hole so surely buried,

i'll take with me a burning pain,

a suture-less reminder,

from my waist to the edge of my ribcage.

2009-05-27T09:36:00.000-07:00

So I finally did it. I made a blog. I guess the first step has been taken and now I should actually do something with it. I'm working on some new pieces currently and as soon as something worth posting materializes I'll stick some images up. Until then this lonely paragraph will have to ancor down the reins, as they say. Yes somewhere, someone has said that. If not, then i said it. Feel free to follow suit. And if it's misspelled, pretend it's part of it's charm and carry on. Which I'm sure is just a nice way of saying I can't spell. OK the producers are calling for commercial so until next time,
joe.

Moth and the Timeworm