Once upon a time I became a wolf and you a dragon.
There is no denying a transcendence,
when there is nothing of who you are, of who you aren't left.
When words become weapons and thoughts like bombs, bandages are
in short supply and there's not enough liquor left to
numb your heart. As you pace the floor and I cry on
the bed in that little apartment there was nowhere
we could hide from each other.
So you with that fire in your belly and
me with all my rage at the moon tore down the glass walls
of that room with flames and wails until
all that was left was fog and silence.

More and more here lately, I am finding that the harder you hold on to something the quicker it slides out of reach. I have to ask myself, is it because it is truly that hard to hold on to--is it really that slippery--or is it that there is no value to holding on to it. I'm not going to pretend that I know the answer to it, or that I have it all figured out, because i don't and i probably never will.

This reminds me of me... at my place, books take precedent; if there is not room for anything else, there will be room for the books.

Ukraine has talent: Sand Animation

This is amazing. Kseniya Simonova is from the Ukraine, and she uses sand to tell the story of the occupation of Ukraine from 1938-1945 by Nazi forces.

walking.the.dog

Walking.the.dog

Somewhere in the distance, beyond
strips of pine and stretches of road,
the train whistle of my childhood
rings out.
Like a lonesome lullaby it carries me
back to my mother's room and the moonlight
filtering onto my covers, casting its
sickly, blue light, comforting me
from the sounds of the coyote chanting
to the iron beast on the tracks.
The coyotes have long since moves on,
but the train still blow her unanswered
calls over the river and into the night.