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Showing posts from July, 2018

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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.

petty crime

that smell (Moscow)

running away with the circus (looking for dolphins)

the black sands of Ureki

ALBINO (PART 2/SECTION TWO - the last excerpt)

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best personal blogs