4
Starlights die across human sight as secrets die between your breath and mine.
5
Born from a rumor of senses, my truth will never get past your skin.
6
I am not a writer. I hurt reading a world that cannot read itself.
7
The word is, in the end, mortal.
Top Shelf
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None of the Lights I answered with reluctance when you invited me to a bonfire by the beach with young girls and a local who, despite her ...
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Tooth Which child's heart didn't throb, eyes didn't widen at the taste of tooth rocking back and forth the soft slide of gum, ...
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The Idea Write down your ideas. I did last night, got out of bed and grabbed a pen and paper and, like a child chasing fireflies, caught ...
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The Vocalist The rest could only imitate what he alone and all alone could do: sustain, vibrate, reach unnamed colors of the soundscape. ...
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So I have gotten into the habit of recording my piano practices because reasons (that have got to do with skills development and, admittedl...
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Cracked open Volume 1 of Béla Bartók's Mikrokosmos (which I ordered at a music shop sometime in February ) and I am loving it so far. W...
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Pulse (A love poem) In the beginning was a pulse that came right before any breath to birth a song or a word. It throbs even as the music...
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The piano makes me happy, which means it makes me sad if I can't engage with it daily in some way — playing, practising, messing aroun... -
Pictures to Show The article calls for being present. That instead of taking photos of the bee Sucking on sunflower, Lock your eyes ... -
Learn slow to learn fast. Everyone will say this in one form or another, in passing or in depth. I'm quoting above the exact phrase sa...
