oo close to the bones of your death, I think, to excavate the burial site. How does one objectively pick apart memories while dusting off raw emotions?
They say the cancerous beast fed quickly, sucked dry any marrow of respite. Reality, it seems, pulled the plug on a negotiable checkout time. You, who ate life like candy, would not waste away on a sugar-free half-life of hope.
I see you spinning in a kaleidoscope of moments, captured grains at the bottom of an hourglass. The dust will settle, in time, I know. A slow-motion slide show is best viewed when the bones are catalogued and safely under glass.
Welcome!
The poems in this beautifully bound book are a result of over twenty years of observations. Observations of the world around us and on the telecommunications network. All of the hate, love, heroism, disasters, and those who help.
Beautif