I have over 70 new followers since Friday and they’re all robo-type advertisements. :( Am I going to have to ditch my d2d profile?
How do I get all of these German profiles to stop following me? They’re like robo-follows loaded with advertisements. Eight already this morning. :/
in my mind
And for once
Our mish-mashed trio entered the dark of night with no idea that same dark would hang over us for a lifetime. Well-intentioned for just a memorable frolic, the pursuit turned us toward the purest form of evil which we lapped up like kittens at a saucer of warm milk. I can’t say I haven’t wondered a hundred times over how it would have ended if that night never happened, the trio now a duo without me—a pair that should have been just you and me—wandering the city like the streets never knew us.
Nature Conservatory, South Central Indiana, November 2013
iPhone 5, Snapseed filters
Picking up the pieces is as futile as
raking leafs in the rainy season,
Tomorrow the trees shedding
and littering the ground once more.
Is better to just wait until Spring
when Father mends the fences.
Then I’ll collect the weary pieces,
And when Father is done if willing,
He can repair this heart, too.
I talked myself into believing
we were some
cool indie chic misfits.
Scuffed chucks and bad lo-fi,
I pretending to be you,
but you never me.
'Cause I was normal,
and you were just
Pike’s Peak outside Colorado Springs, Ft. Carson visit, September 2013 (iPhone with Snapseed filters)
I’m not sure when the ability to write again hit. Maybe was somewhere in the middle of the night when forced to the rooftop by a flash flood of emotions, I jumped up and down on wind-spent shingles for all around to see. Into the air I screamed, “Don’t come save me, goddammit!” A ladder thrown down from the manufactured heavens, I batted it away. I was going down with that house, you see. I built its every bit—brick by brick, board by board—and so I only saw fit to go down with it. Water rushing through me like blood through veins, there was no other place for my soul to sink, except the very place that both housed and destroyed me.
Like a coaster without a cup,
the utility of it void.
The last drop from my bottle,
another night destroyed.
Because I just heard a poor bird smack the window. I think he’ll live to see another pane…
She screamed not to look, too horrible a
sight for me to bear in my winter’s vulnerable state.
I asked if it was a cardinal and she said worse.
Curiosity bit the cat, or should I say the window
smacked the bird. I saw him there, on the back porch.
A red-bellied woodpecker concussed to death.
That night I dreamt I was on a plane that
flew into the side of a mountain,
then I heard God roar, “This is my house!”
My window creaks in the sun
during an afternoon rest,
a lethargic metronome
striking to the perfect count.
Yet my dreams accompany
like childish fingers off-beat
and too daft to care,
the teacher strikes