Romance is dead but we’ll still danse to the bed.
Levi van Veluw, Origin of the Beginning
Ubiquity of fanciful thought before the evening light is gracefully caught.
I’m not one with many exciting stories to tell, but for what it’s worth, I’d still be going to Hell.
Satisfaction requires some attraction for action.
“It is not where it is or what it is that matters, but how you see it.” — Saul Leiter
Been stuck in a delirium where family, friends, and familiar strangers come and go like recurring characters of a dream. How quickly excitement vanishes with the night. How lost are we in all that’s been created and spoiled.
Hood River, Oregon
Lip stains too sinister for cheek,
smothered on sloppy lips
that’ve fallen like the weak.
Even the Devil’s Advocate
lacks the import of speak.
The night, too young to resist
what the wanderers seek.
Waiting for the moon light’s leak
but already swallowed
by darkness that has
assumed its peak.
Ravaging on crowded nights,
remembering the laughter,
forgetting what was right.
We’re no longer all alone
when we’re strangers
We’ve fallen asleep too many times trying to annoint falsehoods into our fragile and enchanted prospects, waking up in a deeper fabrication than the Lochness himself.