by Luis Cuauhtemoc Berriozabal
In the end
our hearts wilt
like ordinary
flowers.
Not all of
us find what
our hearts truly
desire.
And it is
not fair and
it is no one’s
fault. It just is.
September 4, 2009
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Blog Archive
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2009
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September
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- Name-checking Billy F***in Collins
- subject to availability at selected stores
- An Irish Enclave
- an afternoon
- dusty villa and a few cans of beer
- gritty plaza rainbow
- Open Book
- I’ll Paint You in Words
- what we’ve been doing with ourselves
- RIPE
- MOONLIGHT NIGHT: WINTER
- kathleen turner
- untitled grief on a september afternoon
- Parking Lot
- the broken stripper
- Public Restroom
- Bringin' Home the Bacon
- Only Darkening
- Someone to Talk to
- Girl Cuffed
- Poems Like Jackson Mac Low
- The Media Is The Message
- WHY I DON’T FUCK MY WIFE ANYMORE
- with friends like me...
- MY AFTERNOONS WITH DYLAN THOMAS
- The Neighbor’s Daughter
- It’s a Good Night for Drinking
- plan b
- WATCHING TV
- IN THE END
- Dirty Librarian
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September
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