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Showing posts from July, 2012


the white table

The days are not long. The nights are short. Guitars are hiding in cases, with scraps of paper tucked inside. The pen is full. There is a fresh notebook, with creamy pages. The little white desk is in the middle of the living room, a cascade of receipts and laundry perched on it.

I clean it off, have lunch as it stares back at me. This focal point, this fulcrum where my thoughts become real, this cheap folding table from Ikea. It is familiar, and patient.

a confrontation

two rivers, three bells, one stone, a king, a tree full of wishes

the piano's dream

everything in its right place

the children of saudade (drunks and scars)

best personal blogs
best personal blogs