by Randall Rogers
WHERE THE HELL
HAVE THE FROZEN
MISTS OF IMMEMORIAL
TIME SHUT THEIR PORTALS
TO MATTER AND MIND
PONDERLESS
SPECULATION
IN A BASKET
WITH FRIES
AND COLESLAW?
I SAW MYSELF SLOWLY DYING
THEN WAKENING TO LIVE AGAIN
BEFORE
AN ABILITY TO ACHIEVE
JOY, HAPPINESS, COMFORT OR SATISFACTION
LEFT ME
ALONE
AND UPON WAKENING
I ASKED WHY?
April 20, 2009
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Blog Archive
-
▼
2009
(479)
-
▼
April
(39)
- It’s All A Matter of Madness
- FAT GIRLS
- [Where for art thou…?]
- Meditation Classes At the County Jail
- What To Think If Someone Is Dying
- My Father’s Women
- The Buddha said, or Freud.
- Preverbal
- make me forget
- one for isabella
- EVERYDAY SOME PEOPLE ARE GOING HOME TO SEE WHO IS...
- NEVER UNDERSTOOD
- They Say
- Crones
- five minutes
- Sell My Soul
- Hate
- Aphorisms to Guide Your Life
- smoking weed with my name
- DO I HAVE TO REALLY WRITE ABOUT WHAT SEEMS MOST SC...
- Houses of Decay
- 5 minutes for fighting
- Duck and Cover
- Things You Should Know About The Girls
- Dad’s Room
- THE FIRST TIME
- THE COUSINS' PARTY
- Posing as Rimbaud
- A Chirping in the Brain
- Something To Wander About
- Burning in Hell
- Like a Postman Ringing Twice
- so long as humans cut a path
- on being asked about parental influence on my crea...
- ESTELLE, STAR STONES
- Whip-It
- KEROUAC DRANK HERE
- jeramiah
- long hair professor
-
▼
April
(39)
0 comments:
Post a Comment