#entries
Prolly will too, judging from afternoon's frore air.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMLXXVIII)
Blue skies are but a memry now fr'intents,
And is black even littered with stars' tale?
I canna look. Twas frore when we'd avail
Our selves of talk where afternoon was thence
Chance for rehearsal, late as we'd for sense
Put cafe tables side by side, light pale
With greyish region clouds nor blue's detail
But gone ere dinner was put on, and whence?
Ah, how all we'd enjoyed is lost as twere
To wasting hours which never but sift through
Sweet minutes spent with brothers, and in tour
Dear friends. I had espresso with Dad too,
Spent two bucks on a cuppa coffee fer
The chance wi' friends, and did I, LORD, seek You?
08Apr18b
Apr 8, 2018
Apr 8, 2018 at 11:26 PM UTC
August
“I’ve written one poem, and my mind has been blank for the rest of the days.”
“Past midnight, when the world is deathly quiet, my hunger sickens me.”
September
“Another year closer to my death. Hours of darkness consume me with my thoughts, yet for once, I felt happy.”
October
“Fourth of October, I bought grapes from the grocery store. I ate each one at home, coffee on the side — and when none were left, tears welled up as I thought: like the grapes, everyone is gone and I am alone.”
November
“November I write and write, and yearn, and grieve
not to anyone in particular,
but to someone familiar,
this gut-wrenching, unattainable, dying star
whom I would take to my grave,
close to my unbeating heart.”
December
“Fifteenth of December. Happiness is temporary, scars are forever, and the only true freedom lies in death.”
Mar 20
Mar 20, 2026 at 4:35 AM UTC